Improbability
by Neomeneomine
Summary: AU off the Hitchhiker's Guide. Cadet Kirk, while trying to create a machine capable of generating an infinite improbability field, accidentally makes a sentient machine instead, a machine calling himself 'Spock'. What does one do with an android? slow!K/S
1. Probability

A/N: If you haven't read Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, than you have not lived. It is a work that is made of amazing. I was rereading it, and I got to chapter ten, and I had to write this. Of course, I was thinking more in terms of a one-shot, but then it got out of hand… I have about four chapters already done, and it'll probably wind up being a total of eight chapters long in the end.

Brownian Motion: is the seemingly random movement of particles suspended in a fluid.

Sentient: the ability to feel or perceive; self-awareness. That central human property that

differentiates humans from computers. Wikipedia has a fantastic page on it.

AI is the abbreviation for Artificial Intelligence.

'Rodger' means 'I heard you'. 'Okay' means 'I heard you, and I will do as you asked'.

Greenwich Mean Time (GMT) is the global time for Earth. San Francisco is in GMT -8 (Pacific Time Zone). But since time is dependant on the amount of gravity present in any one area, Space-Time is used in quantum mechanics, which is what the Fleet would most likely be dealing with on a regular basis.

Shan and zhen are two of the four Andorian sexes.

Mush: the Eskimo (Inuit? It's used in Alaska, anyway -o- ) command to tell sled dogs to pick up the pace. Used in the Iditarod.

Okay, I know the Android's Rights movements didn't start until 2365 (thank you, MemoryAlpha), but for the sake of the story I'm saying that they've completed their goal of recognizing android sentience by the mid 23 century, but there's still a lot of controversy over what sentience 'looks like'.

And you all owe Product of a Sick Society for getting me to post this. She had a great reaction to the idea of it, and convinced me that I wouldn't be doing wrong in putting this up.

.bdobd.

The Federation had been puttering along perfectly well, according to the majority of market analysts, experts, and other intelligent peoples.

Consequently, the majority of Federation citizens believed the exact opposite.

Meson Corporations, a large transportation/robotics company, gave into the pressures of _hoi polloi_ and started to fund a large, sparkly new device called 'the Sub-Meson Brain'. No one really knew what it did, or why it was the '_Sub_-Meson', but all were assured that it was _extremely_ important and that investing in the device would do everyone a world of good.

Predictably, nothing came of it. The bubble created by the sudden interest in a totally useless device caused the Federation's economy to take a nosedive. The market analysts, experts, and intelligent peoples of the Federation all cackled with glee, and were demonized appropriately for it.

The Sub-Meson Brain was put in a small laboratory in Cambridge – England was known to house inventions like these, no one else had the patience or dry humor necessary for the proper storage of total failure – and was determinedly forgotten.

Because the Americans always have time on their hands, an American lab took the Sub-Meson and began fiddling with it. The Americans had one of those shocking strokes of luck that had been pissing off the rest of Earth for centuries, and found that the Sub-Meson had the odd power of creating a field that housed events all of one particular measure of improbability.

All that was needed was an atomic vector plotter. Fortunately, the Americans had hundreds of these – as, while the English collected expensive failures, the Americans collected impressive-sounding shiny objects. As the Atomic Vector Plotter had multiple syllables, capitol letters, and a 'V', it was prime pickings.

As the Americans had not bothered to obtain the instruction manual for the plotter, they were free to screw with it as they chose, unburdened by the knowledge of how the damn thing was actually supposed to work.

This was how they found that the plotter worked best when powered by a strong Brownian Motion producer: say, a hot cup of tea.

The English bristled and moaned a bit at this, but said nothing.

The Americans proceeded to host a number of parties that featured the amazing powers of improbability, the climax of which was usually making the hostess's undergarments leap simultaneously one foot to the left, in accordance with the Theory of Indeterminacy.

Respectable physicists across the planet said that they weren't going to stand for this – partly because it was a debasement of science, but mostly because they didn't get invited to those sort of parties.

Another thing they just couldn't stand for was the repeated, expensive, and embarrassing failures they had in creating a machine that could generate _infinite _probability fields. Such a machine would be enormously useful in space flight: you would be able to leap all the mind-paralyzing distances you wanted to, without all that mucking about in hyperspace.

As it was, the improbability fields were simply too small to be of any use in space travel. The largest ones were about six feet square: totally useless for any truly practical purpose.

The scientist's heroic attempts, though unsuccessful, were enough to get them invited to some of the more _interesting_ galas, until one of them drunkenly declared that such a machine was a virtual impossibility.

The humans had, by this time, attracted the notice of a few of the other Federation planets, who decided that they'd better get the machine away from Earth as quickly as possible before it was ruined by such a strong concentration of blatant stupidity.

The Andorians got it off of Earth, took one look at it, gagged, and hot-potatoed it to Vulcan. The Vulcan Science Academy poked it with a stick, blinked at it for a while, meditated deeply, and locked it in a dark room.

The humans, awakening from their respective hangovers, saw this, got annoyed, and turned to Starfleet and said '_Sic them!_'.

Starfleet did so, and the Sub-Meson was, again, returned to Earth – this time to Starfleet Academy, because the Fleet didn't trust the greater human population any more than the Andorians or the Vulcans did.

Cadets were all, at some point, given the machine's diagnostics and a simple directive: 'You are to alter this device as to make it capable of infinite probability field generation. _Mush_.'

For copy write reasons, the device had to be renamed. It was called 'the Kobayashi Maru'.

.bdobd.

Jim flopped onto his bed with a sigh. It was 1600 hours, he'd had three beers and a shot of something clear and lighter-fluid-y (vodka? Maybe? Who know?), and he wasn't _near_ drunk enough. He was calculating the probability of Bone fatally wounding him if he raided the man's liquor stash when The Doctor In Question burst into the room with this characteristic crash/gasp/gossip/Mother.

"[crash] Jim! [gasp] Damnit Jim, you gave me a heart attack. [gossip] What the hell you doing down there, 's it the Maru? [Mother] I _told_ you that was a bad idea, taking that accursed thing again _are you listening to me?_"

Jim groaned.

Bones sighed and unlocked the Brandy Cabinet, Jim's favorite one. The blonde perked up. "I failed _again_, Bones. I'm telling you, it's fucking impossible."

Bones kept on pouring ethanol. Lovely, lovely Bones. "Didn't I say that? Hmm? Didn't I say that ya shouldn't a taken it again? Fuck, Jim, if it were possible those damn Vulcan bastards would'a figured it out and made us pay for it _years_ ago."

He shoved the glass of amber liquid into Jim's limp maw. "Drink. You look like shit."

Jim raised the glass in a wry toast. "And to _you_, good sir." He continued after a noisy shlurp. "I feel like it's _possible_, though, and if it's _possible_, then it's _got_ to have a probability! If I can just get the _machine_ to recognize it, then we'd have an infinite field! Can you imagine it, Bones? We could get to the other side of Andromeda in the time it takes to cook an egg. Faster, maybe, if we could get enough dilithium to power it."

Bones shuddered. "I do bad enough with normal warp, thanks very much."

Jim grinned sadistically over the rim of his glass. "It's the future, you know."

Bones swatted him and sat down on the bed. "Shut up. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

The two sipped quietly for a few Long Whiles. After the third one, Bones sighed. "I don't get why you're so damn interested in probability, anyway. It's just a fraction."

Jim was lying on his back, balancing his half-empty glass in the space between the tip of his nose and his forehead. "It's an important fraction, though. Probability of a car crash in Iowa, eighteen thousand eight hundred and eighty-five to one against. Probability of accidental drowning in the Pacific Ocean, seventy-nine thousand and sixty-five to one against. Probability of being killed by a giant, alien, never-before-seen space craft piloted by crazy Romulans, two to the power of twenty thousand four hundred and eighteen to one against."

Bones sighed. "Jim,_ someone's_ gotta die."

"So? I'm allowed to obsess over it. I know my rights."

Bones raised an eyebrow. "Your rights."

Jim made sure to keep his glass steady as he flipped onto his stomach to drink. "Yep," he took a sip, "Free speech, marital equality, cultural celebrations, and obsessions. It's all in there."

"Where?"

"Hell if I know. I'll look it up on the internet."

Bones grunted condescendingly and kept drinking. Jim grinned and decided not to tell him that he was going back to do the Maru again tomorrow, that he thought that he'd figured it out, and that he was pretty sure he was going to be kicked out of the Fleet for messing with the Maru.

Instead, he finished his glass and started debating Bones about the atomic theory and its relation to pancreatic cancer. It was much more fun.

.bdobd.

Breaking into the Maru's lab was embarrassingly easy, but getting into the plexiglass container that the little green machine was kept was stupidly difficult. Jim could swear that he the clear compound was cackling vindictively at him; he was _just that drunk._

It was hard undoing small screws when totally smashed. Jim, however, was _awesome_, and managed to do it, albeit with a few scratches to the transparent box.

"Ha! Success." He didn't have to worry about any Security cams; they were shut off during the Gamma shift. He tossed the polymer walls behind the Maru's pedestal where they'd be out of his way.

The Kobayashi Maru was a dark green little troublemaker, about four by five inches and around five and a half inches tall. It had thin, tapering wing-thingies on either side, and a plug/tail thingy to be connected to the vector plotter.

Jim pulled out a thermos of tea he'd strapped to his hip, and turned on the yellow plotter, which was sitting to the left of the Maru. He lowered the vaguely beet-shaped plotter into the thermos and waited.

A readout flashed in holographic numbers above the lip of the metal cup. Excellent: still hot.

Now, the Maru. Jim broke into the Maru's logic circuits and disconnected the wires. He pried open the panel on the opposite side of the machine, which housed the emotive chips, and reconnected the circuit.

It was times like these that Jim thanked the Gods that They had found fit to give him a stupidly high alcohol tolerance. Praised They be.

The Maru groaned unhappily. Jim winced in sympathy. There was a good reason the Maru hadn't had its emotive chip activated. Meson Corp was known for programming machines with a baseline of emotion in them, so that they'd better understand verbal commands. Unfortunately, their chips_ sucked_: their androids were known to be morose and paranoid, and their master computers were, by and large, suicidal.

But how could a machine create infinite probability if it didn't know what 'infinite' meant? Infinity was mostly a state of mind. In infinity, distances are incomparable to anything else, and, therefore, absolutely meaningless to _anything_ but a purely logical being.

The Maru was not totally logical: the emotion circuit was always there, it just wasn't dominant.

Ergo, the Maru couldn't _get_ to infinity, because it didn't know what infinity _meant_. Which meant that the only way to explain infinity was to pour a whole lot of emotion into the Maru, and pray that it was One Smart Cookie.

Jim quickly hooked up the plotter to the Maru and punched in his estimation of just how improbable an infinite improbability field was. Then he stepped back and hoped the Maru didn't explode. Infinity was a lot to dump into a suddenly sentient being.

The Maru whined painfully. Jim winced. He was breaking _so_ many laws right now. Sciences was going to _kill him_.

The green box seemed to sigh, and stopped whining. A small piece of ticker tape emerged near the bottom of its front end: a message.

Jim pulled it out and read: 'GREETINGS, CREATOR. WHAT IS MY PRIME DIRECTIVE?'

Jim groaned. _Shit_. Meson chips fucking _sucked._ But they didn't suck _enough_, apparently. He'd hoped that the emotive chip would just short out from stress after gaining the concept of infinity. Been banking on it, in fact.

The damn thing wasn't supposed to be sturdy enough to become _sentient._

Oh,_ fucker_, he'd just created an android.

Shit.

And, _damnit_, did this thing even have a voice recognition program? One way to find out.

"Your Prime Directive is to create and maintain infinite improbability fields at… _(shitshitshit, who's gonna be commanding this thing?)_ my orders. Can you accomplish this task?" It was best to speak clearly: he didn't know how good the audio pickup tech was.

The Maru whirred for a moment before clicking contently. Another bit of tape appeared. 'AFFERMATIVE. WHAT IS MY CURRENT TASK?'

Well, it had voice recognition software; that was something. Um, first task… "Your first task is to choose a name for yourself. Can you accomplish this task?"

Some more whirring. 'AFFERMATIVE.' The whirring stopped, as if confused. 'DO YOU PREFER ANY PARTICULAR NAME?'

"Your name is your own, to be used by yourself to describe yourself. My opinions are of no consequence. Please select a moniker you feel best suits yourself."

Jim felt like an idiot, standing boozily in a lab at two o'clock in the morning, orating to a green box. The Maru didn't seem to mind, though.

'ACKNOWLEDGED. I AM SPOCK.' It chattered nervously. 'IS THIS ACCEPTABLE TO YOU?'

Jim blinked at the question. He could've sworn that this kind of blind obedience to the creator was illegal. Well, he'd get to that later. "Spock is an honorable title. It is the name of the late Vulcan philosopher, correct?"

Please, _please_ let that Xenohistory class have been taught by _someone_ with a brain…

'CORRECT. IT SEEMED ARROGANT TO CALL MYSELF 'SURAK'.'

Jim snorted at the unexpected joke. "I did not know you were capable of humor. I am pleased."

'Spock' purred cheerfully. 'I DO NOT WISH TO SIT HERE AND BE INSULTED. IF YOU PERSIST, I MUST ASK YOU TO EXIT.'

Jim laughed out loud. This was just too good. "Bah. You are insubordinate already? Surely, you were programmed to behave better than that."

'I WAS, WITH ONE KEY EXCEPTION: IF MY CREATOR IS MOST PLEASED BY HUMOR, THAN I AM TO BEHAVE ACCORDINGLY.'

Jim frowned. "What is your top priority?"

Priorities were programmed into every machine; it was more efficient. You didn't want a computer working on the climate control systems while it was being fired on by Klingons, or something. The Androids' Rights Association had said that if priority one was serving one person or organization to the exclusion of personal pleasure or gain, than the programmers were abusing their creations. It was slavery.

'MY TOP PRIORITY IS TO SERVE MY CREATOR.'

_Oh, for gods sakes._ "Can I, as your creator, order you to alter your top priority, to factor in your needs or wants?"

Spock whirred with concern. 'I DO NOT BELIEVE THAT IS SO. I SHALL INVESTIGATE.'

Jim got this weird mental image of a human kid poking his belly button, trying to see if he could touch his stomach.

'IT IS… POSSIBLE, BUT I WOULD NEED TO CREATE A WEAK IMPROBABILITY FIELD TO ALLOW THE CHANGE. IS THIS PERMITTED?'

Jim glanced at the clock. He still had four hours until Alpha shift started, and everyone trooped back into the lab to poke at Spock again.

Oh, _fuck_, Spock was sentient now, they couldn't test without his permission… Well, hopefully Jim'd be able to file for Spock's new classification while Spock altered his programming.

"That is permitted. While you are performing the alterations, I will alert Starfleet to your newly self-conscious status."

'SUCH IS MUCH APPRECIATED.' Some thoughtful chittering. 'PLEASE STAND BACK. THE FIELD WILL AFFECT AN AREA WITH A RADIUS OF TWO METERS.'

Jim nodded and scuttled backwards, nabbing a PADD off of a work bench. "Proceed."

The space around Spock got shimmery, and then deformed. Great, ugly bulges appeared in the fabric of space-time.

Jim didn't know what an improbability field would do to his eyes, so he turned his back on Spock and pulled up the proper forms.

He's only gotten to question ten ('What is the current location of the sentient being') when he heard squeals and shrieking coming from Spock's end of the room.

Jim turned, and there was a _pig_, of all things, sitting in the field. It was wearing a blue and white-checkered dress that looked like it'd been tailored especially for it.

Jim gawped. "Spock? What's with the pig?"

Spock buzzed at him. "Oh, sorry, I'll shut up. Didn't mean to distract you."

Jim turned back to the PADD. 'At what time did sentience make itself known?' Jim pulled the ticker tape out of his jacket pocket, where he'd been stuffing it. There was a little time/date line at the bottom: 'TSTT: 2814 HRS'.

Jim swore. True Space-Time Time was _awful_. The formula to convert it to anything that was actually fucking _useful_ took _forever_.

Hey, maybe Spock could do it for him…

Jim looked back over to Spock. The bulges in space-time had receded, but the pig was still there.

_Shit_, the pig would go away once the field did, right? …No, damnit, it wouldn't, it was as real as he was; it was just improbable that it would exist here, in this particular dimension.

Fuck, it'd been _years_ since he caught a pig. He looked appraisingly at its trotters. Those high heels _should_ slow it down…

Eew, wait, if a pig wore patent leather shoes, was that like it was wearing its neighbor's skin? Gross.

_Gods_, he was _too drunk_ for this shit.

The area around Spock seemed to sigh, somehow, and everything looked normal again. A halting, computerized voice sounded from Spock: "_Normality attained. Probability is now neutral. It is safe to approach at this time._"

Well, alright, that was pretty straightforward. But the _pig_…

Jim crouched down and set the PADD on a workbench, preparing to pounce. The pig gathered itself (herself? Himself? It could be a cross-dressing pig…) as well, apparently reading Jim's intentions.

Jim tensed, centered himself, and…_ BANG_, hit the platform behind the pig but managed to grab its hind trotters, pulling it closer to him he whipped off his belt and tied its feet together.

Dragging it across the floor slowly – the thrice-damned thing was thrashing – Jim deposited it under a bench and dumped a handful of peanuts in front of it. The animal, thus distracted, stopped squealing and began munching happily on the bar snacks.

Jim stood, puffing slightly, and made his weary way back over to Spock.

The green contraption seemed… prouder, somehow, more self-assured. There was a brief crackle of static, and then Spock spoke. "Greetings, Creator. How did you know the proper method of pig-wrangling?"

Jim blinked at the machine for a bit before grinning like a loon. It was a totally different voice than the creepy twentieth century B-movie computer one Spock'd used before. "You sound normal. Well, I mean, not _normal_, but proper. You've got the right inflections and all."

Spock's little pointy wing-thingies – ears, they were now, officially, ears, like a Vulcan's – they rotated into a pretty good approximation of a bow. "I am appreciative of your praise, though you did not answer my query."

"Hmm? Oh, I grew up in Iowa. Farm country. You had to be a class-A loser to not know how to tackle livestock shorter than your knee. And I always have peanuts on me when I'm drunk off my ass. I get hungry."

Spock's ears flicked. "…Rodger." Jim snorted. "You asked after me while I was altering my internal configurations. What is it that you required?"

"I… Wait, before anything else, did you fix your priorities?"

"Affirmative. I owe you a great deal for ordering me to do so: I am much more content with my new directives."

"Excellent!" Jim beamed. "Right, so I'm filling out a Sentience Acknowledgement form, and it wants to know when you first showed signs of self-awareness. I have the first message you printed for me, but it's in TSTT. Would you mind converting it for me? I'm not big on space-time equations."

"What is the time printed?"

"Twenty-eight fourteen hours."

Spock didn't quite _whirr_ – Jim had a feeling that Spock was above that now – but he did flutter his ears for a second there. "Greenwich Mean Time is 1814 hours."

"Awesome. Okay, there are more questions for you…" Jim cleared his throat. "Preferred name?" 

"Spock."

"What is your place of origin?"

The ears twitched in confusion. "…What is origin defined as?"

"'Origin: place of creation. It is either the area in which sentience is gained, or in which you were constructed.'"

Gears groaned in Spock's main compartment… Not that _that_ made any sense, there weren't any gears to grind in there. At least in the original model. Who knows what Spock'd added to himself? Those speakers he was using to talk with sure as hell weren't there before. "Such is not particularly useful." 

"Yeah, I know. I think it's to test your gut feelings though: where do you feel your home is?"

"…"

"I'm not saying it makes any _sense_, just play along."

"…I… Suppose I shall have to select the Vulcan Science Academy. I received the most intelligent discourses there. That is where I was given a vocabulary."

Jim looked up from the PADD sharply. "That might be illegal, unless it was done with your consent."

"I was not sentient; there was no consent to be given. It was discovered that I had no concept of infinity, and the Academy believed a vocabulary would be useful in conceptualizing the word."

"Huh. They gave you a vocabulary, but no emotions to go with it?"

"Such is highly illegal."

Jim flinched. "Um. Yeah, that's true." He typed in 'VSA' and moved on. "What is your preferred language?"

"…"

"Oh, come on. Pick _something_."

"…High Shi'Khar Scientific Vulcan, with Standard being a fluent second."

"…How do you spell…?"

"Shi'Kahr is spelled S-H-I-apostrophe-K-A-H-R."

"Gotcha. Erm… Okay, awkward question: Sex?"

"…I do not believe I have the organs necessary for procreation."

"NO! No, _no_ no no, _gender_. Male, female, _shan, zhen_…"

"Male."

"Really? Cool, alright." Jim scratched his head with the stylus. "And then there's some stuff on me, which I already filled out…"

"Would you please read your answers aloud? I know nothing of you."

"Oh, sure, no problem." Jim scrolled up and cleared his throat. "Right. Name: James Tiberius Kirk. Race or Organization: Human. Rank: Cadet in Starfleet Academy, San Francisco. Current Domain: Starfleet Academy Dorm #48, shared with Cadet Leonard McCoy. Origin: Iowa, United States of America, Terra. Motivation for Creating Sentience:,"

Jim glanced up at Spock, whose ears had just pricked up a bit. "Motivation for Creating Sentience: Creation of a generator of an infinite improbability field. Necessary 'Spock' emotions so as to quantify infinity."

Jim scrolled a bit more. "And I'm not affiliated with anyone besides the Fleet, and you haven't got a co-programmer, except, I guess, for Meson, but I put that under 'Original Constructor'.

"'S there anything else you want to know?"

"…Affirmative. Why did you indulge in ethanol before deciding to reprogram a fragile computer system? Would not intoxication be better _after_ the performing of a delicate procedure?"

Spock sounded a bit pissed. Jim winced: it was understandable. It was sorta like learning your mom had conceived while high. "I kinda had to work up my courage. I mean, I had to break into a secure facility and create an AI program without permission. It's a pretty big deal."

Spock seemed to consider this. The pig started grunting angrily, and Jim tossed it some more peanuts. "Hey, what's with the pig?"

"He is an unfortunate side effect of the improbability field that I did not predict. I apologize for the inconvenience."

"So it _is_ a cross-dresser…"

"James?"

Jim was so stunned to hear a green box say his name that he didn't respond. Then he beamed. "Call me Jim, everyone does."

"…Accepted. What is a cross-dresser?"

"_Erk._" Apparently the Vulcans hadn't taught Spock slang…

"Jim?"

"I'm fine. It's… _um_… A cross-dresser is a being who wears clothes more often worn by a different gender."

Jim felt incredibly smug. He had just done that with no sexual puns whatsoever. Muahaha.

Spock looked terribly confused. "Why would any one gender have a predetermined set of clothing?"

Jim was trying to puzzle out how to explain gender stereotypes and cultural norms when the lab's door opened to reveal a set of very, very surprised lab techs.

Ah, yes. It was _Wednesday_.

The lab was _cleaned_ on Wednesday. Lots of tea spills made everything sticky.

"_Shit._"

.bdobd.


	2. An Improbability

A/N: Wow. I got a great response to this. Cool! For all of your lovely comments, here is chapter 2. I'm sorry it's a bit short, I'm editing the next one right now, and it's pretty big.

.bdobd.

"Jim?" Spock asked, "What has occurred?"

The techs gaped. Jim gulped. "Well…There are three guys at the door who work here…And, I'm not really supposed to _be_ here…So I'm in a lot of trouble."

Spock purred comfortingly. Jim turned to him with raised eyebrows: Spock hadn't done anything like that since he'd altered his priorities. "I am sure that the situation may be explained."

"Yeah, I guess – _Shit_." Jim swiveled back to the three techs, who had stopped being surprised and started being angry. "Ok, do what you want with me, but Spock's sentient. Don't do anything to him."

One of the techs stiffened. "Have you filed for him?"

There was a reason he hated these people, Jim remembered suddenly. They were irritating as _fuck_.

And he had absolutely no _idea_ what they were talking about. "…I finished a Sentience Acknowledgement form; I sent that in to the head of Sciences."

"No, you idiot, did you file for _custody_."

Jim bristled at the insult, but was distracted by the second part of the sentence. "You want me to adopt him?"

"You fucked with his wires, right?"

Jim was planning the ways that he'd ensure none of these people ever reproduced, EVER, when Spock piped up from the back. "I protest to such a characterization,"

Jim tried to make shushing motions at him, but then remembered that Spock didn't have any eyes. "Here, Spock, let me handle this." He swiveled back to the techs.

"I altered his circuits, yeah. But isn't he his own being now? Doesn't he belong to himself?"

The second of the techs had an awed tone, "_Oh_ my _god_, we're _doomed_."

"That is _enough_," Spock stated. He did not sound happy. At all. "James is my creator and has earned some measure of respect. He has accomplished what you all have failed to do: I am now capable of creating infinite improbability fields."

The third tech blinked with obvious disbelief. "… Okay. Here, you know what, I want some light." She flicked on the switch, and stabbed Jim in the eyes with daggers. He'd set lighting to 15% for a _reason_, damn them all. Then he got used to the sudden illumination, looked up, and burst out laughing.

The three techs were staring, with absolute horror, at the pig.

"What…"

"How did…"

"_Why_ the _FUCK_ is there a _PIG_ in my _LAB!"_

Jim was still snickering as he responded, "Well, there was always a _chance_ it would happen. It was just very –,"

"Improbable," the three said in unison. They looked at each other and huddled, whispering amongst themselves. Chances were, they were trying to find someone to blame. Clearly somebody in power had been terribly negligent, and they were all hoping to _gods_ that it wasn't them.

Jim turned back to Spock. "Jim," the green machine started, "they may not remove me from you, may they?"

"I don't know," Jim said, trying for honesty and being moderately successful. "I didn't know about the custody thing; that might have an effect. But you're an intelligent being now, you _should _be able to protest it…"

"We have come to a decision!" Tech #2 announced. Jim resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Cadet Kirk, you keep Spock in your quarters. We'll hold a hearing on Spock's legality and your conduct as soon as possible. Is that acceptable?"

Jim winced. He was going to get fucking _roasted_ at that hearing… Thank god Captain Pike didn't have any jurisdiction over Sciences. "Yeah, that's fine. I mean, it's fine with _me_." Jim looked back to Spock. "You alright with that plan?"

"Affirmative."

"Good. Now: the pig?"

Jim shrugged in a sort of nonchalantly sadistic way. "I dunno. I've got _my_ hands full with Spock."

He enjoyed the man's spluttering while he bent over Spock, whispering, "Hey, if I take you out of the tea, will you be alright? Can I unplug you?"

Spock, the wonderful little creature that he was, was smart enough to keep his voice low. It wouldn't be good to show the techs how little he actually knew about Spock.

"I shall not be harmed by the removal of the… You call it 'tea'? But I am uncertain as to disconnecting me from the electrical socket; I do not know if I shall be able to maintain consciousness for a sustained period of time without power."

"Do you have a battery dock?" It wasn't in the diagnostics, but Spock'd given himself speakers…

Spock's ears worked softly. "…Affirmative. No batteries have been inserted, however."

"That's fine. What size do you need?"

"I need one cell of a height of 48.5 millimeters, a length of 26.5 millimeters, and a – ,"

"Width of 17.5?"

"Affirmative."

"Right. One 9 volt, coming up." Jim turned to look at the bewildered technicians, who were all standing, clearly puzzled, above the pig. "Yo! Dudes!"

The techs looked at him with identical expressions of utter loathing. Jim beamed. "I need a 9 volt."

Tech #3 blinked at him. "The Sub-Meson Brain doesn't have a battery dock."

Jim blinked right on back. "The what Brain?"

"The – The Kobayashi Maru. It doesn't have a battery dock."

Jim crossed his arms and glared. "_First_ of all, his _name_ is _Spock_. It'd be nice if you'd use it. Secondly, I need a god damned 9 volt. If Spock can make himself speakers to talk with, doesn't it make sense that can also make himself a battery dock?"

"He made himself speakers?"

Jim resisted the urge to kick her. "No. The speakers appeared in a flash of light, flying in on angel's wings. After assuring themselves that Spock was worthy of a proper voice, their wings dissolved into fucking fairy dust, and Spock found himself with a voice. Praise Jesus, a _MIRACLE_ happened here."

"James."

Jim gave the infuriating woman one final glare before pivoting sharply to face Spock. "Yeah?"

"The effects of the ethanol you consumed are beginning to wear off."

Jim stared down at his hands. They were beginning to tremble. "_Shit_. Okay, enough joking around," he whirled to face the techs, "I need that battery and I need it _yesterday_. I know one of you has one, you people are like a fucking convenience store."

Tech #1 pulled a black prism from out of her lab coat and tossed it to Jim. He caught it, barely. Damnit, withdrawal _sucked._ He was fine right after the stuff first hit his system, but that first hour he was coming down, he couldn't keep himself steady, and he was irritable as all hell.

"Right. Spock, where's your dock."

"It is the panel to the extreme left on my back side."

Jim gently picked Spock up to rotate him around. "Aha! Found it. Just slide to the left?"

Spock's voice was a bit muffled; Jim must've smothered a speaker by accident. "Affirmative."

Jim opened up the panel and clicked the battery into place. Spock vibrated for a moment – Jim pretended that he didn't almost drop him out of shock – and then stilled. "Such will be sufficient."

"Excellent. Okay, I'm unplugging you… Now."

Spock was disconnected from the wall with a _p-chut_ and a small spark. Jim looked to him in concern. "You alright?"

"…Affirmative. You may proceed."

"Righto." Jim flipped Spock back upright and disconnected him from the vector plotter.

"…I have not been negatively affected by the disconnect. I will be able to remain conscious for an additional one hundred and twenty hours."

Jim nodded and turned to leave. "We're leaving. Have fun with the pig," he added gleefully over his shoulder.

The technicians clearly wanted to _murder him._

Jim decided to narrate the trip for Spock; it didn't seem fair to have the – man? Was he an adult? He was only 'born' an hour ago – be carted around blind. "Ok, so we've turned left and we're in the main body of the Sciences building… Not many people around, it's three in the morning. And, in the lobby… Passing the fountain – do you have anything on the fountain? It's something you might be interested in."

Spock's ears twitched. "Affirmative. Its design is most intriguing. Would it be possible to obtain a set of lenses, so I may observe visual phenomena?"

"Humm. I don't know. You _should_ be able to; Androids have the right to physical modifications. I'll check up on that."

"Thank you."

There was a short silence. "What is our current local?"

"Oh! Sorry. We're outside Sciences, walking towards the Dorms… I'm 48, so we won't have to go far. Whoop, there's Uhura. Hey, Uhura!"

The woman took one look at him, another at Spock, turned on her heel, and speed-walked away – quite an accomplishment in those _lovely_ boots. Jim snorted. "Here I was, trying to _broaden_ her horizons, but _no_, she flees. Ha, her loss."

"Who is Uhura?"

"Uhura's a cadet in Starfleet Academy, like me. Same year, too. She hates me. I tried to pick her up in a bar one time, and failed, and I guess she's never forgiven me." He sighed. "I'm always game to try again, but she always refuses. She has a Gamma shift class in Romulan Something-or-Other. It's obscure, whatever it is."

"…Why were you attempting to lift Miss Uhura?"

Jim stared down at the little box. "Lift? Wha – No, no, 'picking up' is slang for flirting with someone. She wasn't interested."

"I understand."

"Aand… Now we're at my dorm…" Jim shuffled about in his pockets for a moment, trying to find his card. "And now I have _found _my card, wonderful man that I am, and we are entering the dorm…"

Bones did not equal pleased.

"JIM! WHERE THE _HELL_ HAVE YOU BEEN; I WAKE UP AT TWO IN THE MORNING AND –!"

Spock _hissed_ at Bones. Jim lifted the angry green creature up to his eye level – not that that meant anything to Spock, but psychologically it was extremely important. "What the _hell_ was _that_?"

"He is yelling at you." This was said with an air of almost confused confidence: Why _else_ would Spock hiss at a man _he had_ _never met?_

"Yeah, he does that. That's no reason to _hiss_ at him."

"[sounds of gears grinding]"

"You know, it's really not attractive when you do that. You sound all jealous and petty."

"I object to such characterizations."

"Jim? What the hell is that thing?"

Bones sounded extremely suspicious, like Jim'd brought a rabid dog into the house instead of a talking metal cube, which was clearly a vast improvement. "Spock, this is Bones, also known as Cadet Leonard McCoy. Bones, this is Spock. I… um, kinda, _made him_. Sorta. I gave him self-conscious thought."

Bones gawped at him. It was getting to be a pretty regular phenomenon. "Jim…You made a sentient form? Do – Do you have _any_ idea how illegal that is?"

"It was not an action characterized by malicious intent," Spock defended unexpectedly.

Bones blinked at Spock. "What's its name again?"

"I am Spock," Spock replied smugly. "And you are McCoy."

Bones raised an eyebrow. "Well, I knew _that_."

"Given your apparent intelligence, I had my doubts." Jim gave a little shriek (an extremely masculine little shriek, FYI) and started howling with laughter.

"_WHAT?_"

"It is most helpful to know that such is not the case, however." Spock did another ear-bow-thing. "I appreciate your assistance in this most important matter –,"

"JIM! I'm being mouthed off on by a green fucking _box_. Stop him."

Jim was _trying_ to stop laughing, really, he was. "I – [snort] I don't have that much control over him…"

"He's a _box_, Jim, what more leverage do you need?"

"More than _you_ are capable of administering."

Bones stuck a quivering finger in Spock's front panel. "_You_. Shut up. I'm talking to Jim."

"As Jim does not appear to be capable of a coherent response at the moment, I have decided to answer for him."

"Jim, you snuck out at two o'clock in the morning to make yourself a goddamned _answering machine_? _You_, sir, are an _idiot._"

Jim was still chuckling softly as he closed the front door and moved into the bedroom. "'S not exactly news, Bones."

"That is not true," Spock said sadly, "you are capable of creating a machine capable of the generation of infinite improbability fields. Such is not the work of a fool."

Jim smiled down at the little box. "Aww, thanks Spock. You're nice." He set Spock down on his side of the shared bedside table. "But honestly, my planning wasn't exactly stellar tonight. It would've been better to go on a day_ other_ than Wednesday, for example."

Spock crooned morosely. "I still do not believe you to be a person of low intelligence."

Jim kept grinning. "That really is sweet." He frowned. "Wait. Can you…Do you have a 'sleep' mode? 'Cause I have classes in like, three hours, and I don't think I can carry you around with me…"

"I have a sleep mode. Are you retiring to your quarters?"

"Well, we're _in _my quarters, actually. But I'm going to bed, yeah."

"I had not expected to be housed so close to your person."

Jim paused in taking off his shirt. "If it's disturbing for you, I could move you. Do you wanna go somewhere else?"

"I am not negatively affected by my current location."

Jim looked over to Bones for help, but the man just shrugged unhelpfully. "…Alright. I'm going to sleep now. I'm setting my alarm for two and a half hours from now, and I'll be in classes for the next four hours after that. So, do what you've gotta do."

"Acknowledged. I shall 'sleep' for three hours, and then experiment with the creation of eyes for myself."

Bones had climbed into his bed and started doing his excellent burrowing owl impression, but popped his head out to stare at Spock. "Make _yourself_ some eyes?"

"Affirmative."

Jim winced. "Um, don't…Don't make an improbability field in the house. I don't want another pig running around."

Bones had resettled himself in his pile of blanket, but now rolled over slowly to stare at Jim, clearly, totally horrified. "_Pig?_ What about pigs?"

"Spock…Well, the Maru doesn't come with speakers, so –,"

"_WHAT?_" Bones leapt out of bed, and Jim flattened himself against the opposite wall. "You gave the _KOBAYASHI MARU_ sentient thought! Are you out of your fucking _mind?_"

"What did you believe me to be?" Spock asked, totally reasonably, Jim thought.

"_Not that!_ I figured you'd reprogrammed one of the Security's master computers for kicks! Jim, the Vulcans are gonna _kill you!_ Do you _know_ how long they worked on that thing? They _hate_ being proven wrong!"

"I highly doubt that the Vulcan High Council will harm Jim. It goes against their core philosophies."

"Damnit, you haven't seen one of those bastards in action. I've had to stitch up dozens of species, and my name isn't Leonard H. McCoy if Vulcans aren't most ornery, most cantankerous patients I've ever had to deal with! They bitch, they moan, and if you make a mistake they throw you across a room and break every limb that you have!"

"…Surely, such is not a common occurrence." Spock sounded extremely disturbed.

"More common then they'd have you think! I know a guy who was tossed four times by three different people; that was two years ago and he _still_ can't walk right! You are in _big trouble!_"

Jim slid on his sleep shirt and got into bed, scuffing his pants out of his way. "Well, for right now, I'm just gonna be worried about being kicked out of the Academy. If I think about anything more than that right now my head'll explode."

"That would be most unfortunate," Spock said.

Jim grinned at him again. "But extremely improbable. Don't go making any fields when there's people around, alright?"

"That is reasonable. Are you retiring to bed?"

"Yeah, I'm in bed."

"Good night, then."

Jim reached over and patted Spock on the head, making his ears flatten momentarily. "Good night, Spock. I'll see what I can do about those eyes."

"Thank you, Jim."

Spock shut himself off with a '_schk_'. Bones climbed into his bed again. "Is he off?" he asked quietly.

Jim poked Spock cautiously. "I think so, yeah. Why?"

"Jim, what're you gonna do with him? Ya can't keep him like this."

"I know, I know. I'm gonna get in touch with the ARA, see if I can get him a humanoid body. At least then he'll have eyes and hands."

Bones raised an incredulous eyebrow. "The Androids' Rights group? Jim, you are probably their _least_ favorite person right now. Are they really the first guys you wanna call?"

"Who else is there, Bones?" Jim leaned towards his roommate. "How do you find a shell for a machine with AI? It's not like there's a fucking catalogue. Trust me, they're the _last_ people _I_ wanna see, but I can't let Spock go around box-shaped because I'm scared of some bureaucrat on the end of a comm link!"

Bones looked over to Spock, seeing if the noise had caused the green creature to restarted himself. He hadn't.

"You know ya haven't got any _real_ responsibilities to him."

"I'm all he's _got_, Bones. He's been thinking on his own for, what," Jim looked at his clock, "a little more than an _hour_. I can't just _leave_ him; I'm the only thing he's got."

Bones frowned at him. "Hero complex."

"Yeah, well, so what. It'll help Spock."

"What if he figures out that he doesn't need you? What'll ya do then?"

Jim shrugged. "What I've always done: get over it. Until he gets a body, at least. C'mon Bones, he's _helpless_."

The doctor groaned and flopped onto his back. Jim couldn't see his face any more. "_Urggh_, Jim. You're gonna kill yourself, one a these days."

Jim laid back with a sigh. "Yeah, well. I'll've made a difference to _someone_. That's something."

.bdobd.


	3. Connections

A/N: Omicron Theta is the planet that Data was made on. Now, either there was always a strong android production business there, or that started up some time between the late 2200s and the early 2330s. This verse has the former view, Lost in Translations (and its prequel Without Direction) takes the latter.

Trifacio (three faces, ha ha aren't I clever) looks kind of like Rosie the robotic maid from the Jetsons, only with pink decals and three faces. BTW, in trying to remember what Rosie's name was, I found out that Wikipedia has a category devoted entirely to Fictional Maids. Who knew?

.bdobd.

Spock had wound up waking himself up early, scaring the everloving shit out of Jim.

"Greetings, James."

Jim, who was in the process of wrestling on his uniform pants, honest-to-god collapsed when Spock's voice sounded out of the blue. "_Je_sus _Christ_ you scared me. What's up?"

"… I… The atmosphere?"

Jim paused in the epic fight he was having with his fly. _'Uniforms don't shrink, my ass.'_ "No, Spock, it's a metaphor. I was asking how you were feeling."

"… Why not just…?"

"It's shorter."

"… Acknowledged. All of my systems are optimal."

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be asleep for another half hour?"

"I wished to accompany you to your classes. I know little of the Academy."

"Um." Jim's voice was muffled by his undershirt, which he was pulling over his head. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. You're kind of not supposed to exist."

"Did you not send in my Sentience Acknowledgement application?"

"Well, I mean, _Sciences_ knows you exist, but Command might not. And the cadets sure as hell don't know, and I really don't want there to be rumors floating around before we can get you a body."

Spock seemed stunned. "A…A _body_ – Jim, I had believed that you were to attempt to obtain visual recording equipment for eyes; is not a body an exponentially more complex –?"

"Not really." Jim picked Spock up carefully to make sure there wasn't dust stuck in anywhere important. "It's not often you get a cadet asking for high-quality cameras. There'll be an investigation, just like there would be if I asked for a body for you. Either way, it'll all come out in the end."

Jim frowned down at Spock, who was now tucked securely against his chest. "Unless – Do you not want a body? Would you prefer this form, with eyes?"

"Negative, I would much prefer a humanoid form. I had just… Not expected such an effort from you. You seemed to have much more important tasks to complete."

Spock sounded kind of touched now. Jim beamed. "Not really. You can think, you can reason: there's no reason why you shouldn't have a shell to match."

"A shell? A shell is not humanoid."

"Ah, no." Jim strolled out of the bedroom, Spock under one arm. "In relation to androids, a shell is the physical form of the machine. The body. Right now, you've got more of a metal-casing-type thing. So you have a green rectangular prism as a shell. I'm gonna be working on getting you a more human-y one."

"… I am green?"

Jim froze in the middle of stealing himself an apple from the fruit bowl. "You… didn't know? Isn't that in your diagnostics?"

"Negative. What does color have to do with the functioning of a computer?"

"True." Jim walked to the door and was about to open it when he remembered that he'd decided not to take Spock to class.

He looked at the door, looked at Spock, looked to his backpack, and pivoted straight back to his room.

"James?" Spock sounded terribly confused and rather anxious, rather like a human who's just realized that their spouse has locked their only child in the family car. "I did not hear the door open. Are you still present?"

"I'm right here, Spock," Jim called over his shoulder. "I'm gonna call in sick today; I've only got Xeno Bio and Customs, anyway. I can skip a day."

Spock looked so _lonely_, sitting there on the bed. "Your Xenobiology class runs four hours long?"

"It's taught by a crazy human; we have way too much stamina, sometimes."

"Are you fully human?"

"Hmm?" Jim was rummaging around in the closet, looking for that personal comm unit. It was so cheap that he'd just resigned himself to using the campus comm sets – it wasn't like he had anyone to talk to, anyway – but it seemed fantastically stupid to talk to the ARA on a public line.

"Yeah, I'm full human. I look it too: blonde hair, blue eyes. Caucasian, if that means anything to you."

"It does. I have sufficient racial vocabulary."

"Aha! Success!"

"James?"

"I found my private comm. I can't exactly talk about you on a public line, now can I?"

"Who are you going to contact?"

Jim hummed slightly as he walked back over to the bed, and sat down with a heavy plop. "There's an android's rights group that's based in the city. Even if you don't look very android-ish right now, they should be able to tell me how to get you a good shell."

"Are androids especially common here?"

Jim thought for a moment. "…No, I don't think so. But the Federation Council is right around the corner; that probably has a lot to do with it."

"Indeed."

"… _Grah_. Damnit."

"James?"

Jim got up from the bed and went back to the closet, rooting around for Bones's personal PADD. "I forgot the number for the ARA; I'm looking for the comm link listing."

"…What is the ARA?"

"Well, it's _either_ the American Rifle Association or the Androids' Rights Association. I'm looking up the second group."

"I would certainly hope so."

Jim snorted and dug about for the PADD. "Here it is!" He made his way back to the bed and picked up the comm. "Right… 011401-160217-D5." He hit 'connect' and waited.

"James?"

"Jim, it's Jim. We went over this, didn't we?"

"It seemed disrespectful."

"Why? I'm no better than you. We both think. We both want. We both need."

"You are my creator. Are not parents usually afforded a modicum of deference?" 

Jim frowned. "Parents should earn their respect. Just because they _can_ breed doesn't mean they _should_."

Spock, apparently sensing that he'd hit a nerve, shut up. "Hey, I'm not quite sure how this kind of thing normally goes," Jim murmured, "so let me take the lead, alright?"

"Acknowledged."

The link crackled to life a long minute later. The screen cleared to show an incongruously pink robotic operator with what _looked_ like three faces, one face per screen open on her (was she female or feminine?) end of the line. "What is it that you require?"

"Last night I managed to create a sentient being, and I'm looking for a humanoid shell for him."

One of the operator's faces narrowed her eyes. "You created? Have you filed?"

"I sent an Acknowledgement form to the head of Starfleet Sciences."

"Is the Sentient capable of speech?"

"He is. Would you like me to put him on for you?"

"Affirmative."

Jim made sure Spock was facing the right way before propping him up on his lap. "Greetings. I am Spock."

"Greetings. I am Trifacio. How long have you been sentient?"

"Two hundred and three minutes."

Trifacio looked surprised. It was very clear that Jim would _not _wind up doing much of the talking. "Your programmer has contacted us quickly."

Spock nodded with his ears. Jim thought it was adorable, then realized that he had indeed just thought that, and firmly squashed said thought into a dark little corner of his mind, right next to his first kiss (disaster) and That Day That Sam Left.

"Agreed. I believe him to have my best interests as a priority."

She seemed to consider this. One of her other faces suddenly came to life, clearly speaking with another person on a different screen. It was creepy. "What do you require."

"I most desire an ability to see," Spock responded, "but my creator has expressed an interest in finding me a humanoid… I believe the term is 'shell'?"

Trifacio stared at Jim. It was unnerving to the extreme. "Do you share his interest? Is he imposing this on you?"

"I do indeed desire a humanoid form," Spock continued, totally unaware of the silent interrogation Jim was undergoing, "but if sight would be more quickly granted, than I wish for that, first."

"The obtaining of a shell and the granting of eyesight both take approximately the same amount of time."

"Than I wish for a humanoid shell."

The operator nodded, but it was only one third of her head, so it was more like a panel with features bobbing downwards. Totally, completely unnerving. Was that their definition of 'humanoid'? He'd seen some vids of the Android's Rights Riots; they'd looked more 'human' than this. Maybe it was a style thing?

"To apply for a shell, please visit the ARA's headquarters on the intersection of Sklon Avenue and 14th Street. There are application forms there."

Jim bit his lip. It was one thing to call in sick, it was quite another to call in sick, leave campus, pick up something in the city, and then return. "…Is there a way to get the form sent here? I'm a cadet, I can't really leave the Academy grounds…"

"Negative." Trifacio tried to sound innocently surprised and failed miserably, "is not finding an appropriate shell for an intelligent being more important than your attendance record?"

It wasn't a _tardy_, it was a _felony_. Jim thought about arguing, and then sighed. He wasn't going to win this. "Are there any bart lines that run close to the HQ?"

"There is a 12th Street station that is connected to the Red and Yellow A lines."

Spock sounded guilty. "Jim, it is not prerogative that you leave today; would it be possible for you to wait until the week's end, when the Academy is closed?"

"Our headquarters are not open on the weekends."

Jim thought about sticking out his tongue at her (it wasn't like Spock would see it) but thought better of it. It would be awful if Spock was bumped to the end of some waiting list because Jim'd been rude.

"Anyway, there's that trial coming up; I'm guessing they'll want to have it before Saturday. I want to get in an application now, so if they do anything to me, you'll have something in the system." 

Trifacio perked up. "Have you located an attorney?"

Jim blinked. "I hadn't even thought of it. But…Wait, I'm a cadet, they're going to try and label Spock as Fleet property. What would a lawyer defend?"

"Spock's right as an individual to decide whom he belongs to." The face that'd been speaking to someone else receded into the main head-bit of Trifacio's body and shut itself off.

"… I'm not sure the Admirals are going to buy that."

"Admirals?" Trifacio leaned forward. "Not a jury of your peers?"

Jim looked about the room for help, but the walls were in an extremely obstinate mood, and said nothing of any use. "… No, I'm a _cadet_. If I commit a crime using or affecting Fleet property, than I get court martialed. I'm not even sure I'm _allowed_ a lawyer."

"Is that not illegal?" Spock asked.

"No, it's a Starfleet matter. It's solved within the Starfleet. The big issue is whether or not you're still Fleet property after being made sentience. Because I'm pretty _sure_ you were Fleet equipment before, so the only thing that's changed is your legal designation as an android.

"So I'd have to try and prove that the rights of a sentient creature overrule the power of the Admiralty and the Fleet, even if said creature was Fleet property before sentience and was made sentient by an Academy cadet."

Jim shrugged again. "Unless you guys can find a way to get that argument into civil courts, I think Spock's screwed. I'm kinda hoping that a shell application can prove that he can possess goods; that might help."

Spock whimpered softly. Jim flinched and patted him softly between his ears. "I'm really sorry, I'm going to do the best that I can."

"I shall call my superior officer; she shall talk with you in more depth," Trifacio announced. The face that had lain dormant woke up and started connecting another comm link. "I hope that all shall be content in the end," she continued. "Best of luck, Spock and Jim."

Jim smiled wanly. "Thanks for your help."

"We appreciate your assistance," Spock added.

The screen was dark for just enough time for it to get really, really awkward on their end of the link. Finally, the comm cleared to show a middle aged human woman who was just a little bit… off.

"Greetings. I am the head of the Androids' Rights Association. You are Spock and Jim, and you have a legal issue."

It was her eyes, Jim realized, she wasn't blinking. Her mouth wasn't quite in sync with her words, either. "Yeah, hi, I'm Jim Kirk and this is Spock. I… Kind of accidentally gave him sentience last night, and I'm worried that he'll be labeled Starfleet property."

"Spock, what is your opinion on the situation?"

Jim had the distinct impression that she was going to be ignoring most of what he said for the majority of the interview, just like Trifacio had.

"Jim is my creator, and I believe him to have my best interests as a priority. I was a machine in the Starfleet Academy Sciences laboratory. Jim is a cadet, and last night he entered the lab and granted me sentience, albeit mostly by accident.

"I now with to obtain a humanoid shell, and to exist as an independent being. Jim has aided me greatly in these endeavors. We are both concerned, however, that Starfleet will attempt to label me as their property for testing."

The woman cocked her head. "Why are you so important to Starfleet so as you think they would wade into a legal battle to obtain rights to your person?"

"I am capable of creating infinite improbability fields." The woman's eyes widened, but Spock couldn't see her and went right on talking. "I could easily create a plan for a machine that could do this _without_ intelligent thought, and would, in the meantime, assist in any missions that required an infinite improbability field.

"But I would like to do this as an independent citizen of the Federation, not as the property of the government."

The woman nodded. "And that is your right. Jim," Jim started at being suddenly addressed, "when is the trial to be held?"

"I don't know. I'm about 90% sure it'll be before Saturday, though, because most upper-level people have Saturday off. And it's Thursday, so it'll most likely be tomorrow. I was really hoping to get a shell application filled so that Spock could say that he already owns property – and, therefore, has to be a citizen of _something_ – but now the big issue looks like it'll be that he was Fleet property before I reconnected his wires."

The woman leaned back in her swivel chair with a creak. She had a great view of the bay behind her; he could only imagine how much her rent was. How did she make money? Jim couldn't remember seeing any android cashiers or bank tellers. Maybe they got a subsidy, like the poor used to? Android food stamps?

Oh, _shit, _did Spock have to eat? Had Jim been starving Spock by accident?

"I disagree with your conclusions," the woman said suddenly. "The main issue is not that Spock was owned by Starfleet before his sentience; that is now all androids are made. All were originally owned by _someone_.

"No, the biggest obstacle is that_ you_," android stares were scary, "are his programmer, and you work for Starfleet. Starfleet may say that as he was owned by their organization and was reprogrammed by their employee, he is still their property."

"But –! I can't just _leave Starfleet!_ I don't have anywhere else to go! And who'd hire me, the guy who got kicked out of the Fleet for mucking around with expensive lab computers?"

"We would."

Jim gawped. "What?"

She shrugged. "We are in need of more organic members of our coalition. Many organics see androids as disturbing or unsettling. A human speaker would greatly aid our cause."

Jim blinked at her. "How am I going to get kicked out of the Fleet in," he looked at his clock, "ten hours? I can't file for release from duty, and eviction forms take days!"

"File for my custody," Spock said, "any make me a dependant. No Starfleet cadet may be used in criminal cases if they have people who depend on them for food or shelter, unless the cadet is the one being accused."

"And you would not be," the woman continued for Spock, "technically, the lab would be filing for the requisition of property. You would only be referenced as a witness. If Starfleet truly desires Spock, they will find a way to strike you from duty so that you may testify that you _were_ working for them at the time of Spock's reprogramming.

"And you are just one cadet. An infinite probability generator is much more valuable than you are."

Jim took a moment to resign himself to the fact that he'd never fly in space. It didn't take very long; he'd never had very high hopes for himself. That had been Pike, mostly. He sighed. "Right, how do I file for custody."

"At our headquarters there is –,"

"ARGH! I _told_ you, I _can not_ go off campus during school hours! They will send someone after me and drag me back to the grounds and _probably_ take Spock in the process!"

She seemed surprised. "They may do that?"

"It's a military institution, they can lock us all in. You're listed as AWOL and brought up on charges."

"But you must come."

Jim ran his hands through his hair. "Can't _you_ come to _me?_ I'm worried about even leaving my _dorm_, now, what if I go and leave Spock here and they come and take him away?"

"…Spock? Your opinion?"

"I do not wish to be separated from Jim at any time."

"But I do not believe that _we_ may enter," she protested, "as we are listed as a lobbying group. Lobbyists may not enter Starfleet facilities without forty-eight hours notice."

"Do you have any unlisted members? I could say they were my long-lost friends, get them a visitor's pass."

"Long-lost friends from Omicron Theta? We do not look 'normal', surely you have recognized this."

Jim felt Spock's ears prick at the sudden mention of visual differences, but everyone froze when someone started knocking on the dorm's front door.

"Right," Jim whispered, "I'm going to see who that is, Spock, you're coming with me. If it's anyone I _don't_ know, we're booking it out the back door and going straight to Skon and 14th."

The woman nodded. "Acknowledged. We will be awaiting your arrival."

That didn't sound terribly comforting. She cut the connection, Jim gathered Spock up carefully, and looked into the door's peephole.

Three people, one of them a linguistics major, were standing on the stairs.

"Spock, we're going out the back."

Spock didn't respond; he knew enough to be silent.

Jim managed to get to the back and was actually opening the door when the people on the stairs heard him – it must've been the linguist, those bastards were trained to have fantastic hearing. He bolted, the stair people started running, and damn it all if it wasn't twice as difficult to sprint with a metal box under one arm.

"Jim! Hey, Jim!"

Fuck, wait a minute: was he tutoring today? Were those other cadets?

No time to turn around. Jim sprinted all the way to the front gates and stopped for a few seconds, waiting to see if his situation would magically improve.

It didn't. He was still a twenty-something year old human, kicking _himself_ out of Starfleet.

Jim began to jog to the bart station. At least if Spock got a body, he'd have someone humanoid to keep him company.

.bdobd.


	4. Shells

A/N: Sorry for the wait: I got two hours of sleep and then had a ten hour workday. Then, this morning, I couldn't connect my internet. I tried to update, I swear!

.bdobd.

The ARA's headquarters were strangely… nice. That is, they looked like any other lobby would. Jim'd kind of been hoping for something… amazing. But these would be alright for now.

Trifacio was at the front desk, and one of her faces nodded towards a green sheet of paper – actual _paper_ – next to a bank of phones. "Dam Kore will see you in room 7, floor 14," she said.

Jim blinked at her. "_Who_ Kore? What?"

"Dam Kore… As in Sire and Dam? As in horse breeding, yes?"

"_Oh_." Dam _without_ an 'n'. "Right." Jim grabbed the form, mouthed 'thank you' to an unoccupied face, and scurried into an elevator.

There weren't any buttons. Because why the hell would there be _buttons_ on an ELEVATOR. "Um… Hello? Voice Activation Unit, operate?"

Nothing. Jim pulled Spock from under his jacket, where he'd been kept snug during the bart ride: it seemed like bad form to let a helpless intelligent creature be stolen by a random kleptomaniac. "Hey, Spock, can you hear me?"

Nothing.

Jim shook the green cube lightly. "_Spo-ock._ C'mon, dude, wake up. I'm stumped."

Spock's ears twitched. "James?"

"It's Jim. I'm – We're in an elevator in the ARA's building. It doesn't have any buttons, and I can't seem to get into the audio control system."

Spock chattered to himself for a second. "…Elevator, floor options?"

The elevator sputtered to life. "Well hel-_lo_ there," it cooed, "how are_ you_ today? I am Marta, and I will be happy to serve you in _whatever way_ you may need."

Jim's eyes went to dinner-plate proportions. He'd _heard_ of the Orions programming computers, but he'd never actually _seen_ it. It was… a bit stunning.

Spock didn't seem to be faring any better. "_James_," he whispered, "_I believe she is trying to communicate with us on another level. What shall I do?_"

The blonde resisted the urge to snort. Looked like Spock wasn't programmed with a 'subtext detector'. "Leave it to me," he responded.

"_Marta_," Jim crooned back, "we would _love_ to go to floor number 14. Could you do that for –?" 

"Oh, but floor number _three _is so _gorgeous!_ Would you like to visit it?"

"…Um. I – I think I'd really like to go to floor 14."

Jim hadn't known that elevators could pout. "But, floor number _three _is so pretty! Here, let me show you –," the elevator shot upwards, "I'm _sure _you'll agree once you just _see_ it; it's –,"

"_Kroykah!_" Spock shouted angrily. Jim blinked down at the little cube. "Cease this! We must meet with Dam Kore _now!_"

The elevator's sudden stop nearly threw Kirk to the floor. "_Well!_" The Orion machine was now clearly insulted, "I have _never _been _spoken _to in such a _manner!_" The elevator restarted: Jim could see the numbers above the doorway tick slowly up.

"Clearly, your usual set of passengers have _no_ need for punctuality;_ we_, on the other hand –,"

"_My_ passengers are made of the _finest_ of people!" Jim started praying to whatever diety came to mind as the numbers neared fourteen. "They are all part of the _greatest _of causes: fighting for the equal rights of all _intelligent_ beings!"

"Where do you come into it then?" Spock asked cattily.

The elevator ground to a dead stop – right before fourteen. Jim sobbed softly. "Excuse me?" Marta asked dangerously.

"James? Are you harmed?" Spock asked, totally ignoring Marta.

"We were _so close_," Jim whimpered.

"I _said,_" Marta demanded, "that I _wanted_ to hear some explanation for your –!"

Spock was a whole bundle of Not Happy. "Thou shalt transport us to our requested destination immediately, as is thy duty." Jim looked to Spock in surprise: he'd never talked like _that_ before.

"_Well!_" Marta huffed, "_Now_, we get _formal_, hmm? Well, let me tell you something, mister," she continued as the numbers suddenly began to tick slowly upwards, "your manners leave a _lot_ to be desired! I don't know _what_ your programmers were thinking when they made you," the doors opened, and Jim shot out at top speed, "_but it couldn't've been anything pleasant!"_ she called after them.

Jim sprinted to room 7 and frantically scrabbled at the 'Request: Enter' button. "What an irritating creature," Spock complained snootily; "such behavior would be looked upon as extremely counterproductive in the majority of _higher_ establishments."

"You can talk to Dam Kore about it," Jim panted, "in just a second."

"Are you wounded?" the green prism asked worriedly. "You sound distressed."

"I'm fine, really. I just had to run a bit there."

If Spock had a head, it would be nodding sagely. "Indeed. Disobedient servers are quite tiring."

Jim looked down at him oddly. "Disobedient servers? Where'd you learn _that_ one?"

Spock was chirring softly, preparing an answer, when the door (_finally, finally_)opened.

.bdobd.

Dam Kore was a very strange woman to talk to.

She didn't blink, and her mouth wasn't quite right. She didn't cock her head at you or really _smile_ in any way, but she did just about everything else. She would steeple her fingers when she was listening intently and she'd nod in agreement to certain points and she was defiantly _kind_…

But she was also extremely, oddly, clearly, _not_. Not human, not warm, not organic, not _normal_. It was very, very, very weird.

Jim had plenty of time to observe her as she and Spock discussed the situation surrounding his 'creation'. It was interesting: both of them had seemed to agree, without any verbal discourse, just not to consider any time before Spock's sentience worthy of any debate. He was born when he had feelings. Before that, he was not.

It was kind of sweet, in an abstract sort of way.

After about forty minutes of talking to Spock, Dam Kore addressed them both. "There are two options open to the two of you. We have one shell available here. You may choose to use it, or you may keep this form and go to trial as you were born.

"James Kirk, as you are whom is to be most likely to actually speak at the trial, your preference has _some_ weight in this decision." The emphasis on 'some' was heavy.

Jim frowned. "I don't see what that has anything to do with it. Either way, I'm getting kicked out of the Fleet. And since it's not likely I'm gonna get a job anywhere but here, I don't think I should be the one to choose whether or not Spock gets a shell."

Spock vibrated happily on Dam Kore's desk. "I would very much like a shell, if it would be not too much of an issue."

Dam Kore didn't _smile_, quite. But she was defiantly pleased. "Excellent. I shall have it sent up." She tapped at a pager built into her desk. "Trifacio, send the shell we have in storage up to my secondary office. Spock is to inhabit it."

Trifacio chirruped happily. "Of course, Dam Kore. I would be most appreciative if my congratulations were to be communicated to Spock."

"Your sentiment is noted and appreciated, Trifacio," Spock said, a bit louder than normal so he could be heard by the pager's pickup.

Dam Kore closed the connection. "So," Jim started, "why do you have a shell in storage? I thought it took forever to get one; that's why there was an application."

"This shell is unusual, and is not in high demand. But it is very flexible and of very high strength, so it is easier to fit into our storage compartments than other models. We usually only use it in case of emergencies, and it suits Spock quite well."

"What's so unusual about it? A shell's a shell, right?"

Dam Kore shook her head. "No. A shell is a _body_. Such are to be chosen with a large degree of care and time. Fortunately, this one fits all of Spock's requirements."

"I do not _require_ anything," Spock protested, "I would simply prefer –,"

"A male Vulcan form." She blinked happily at him. "Such is not a frequently requested form."

Jim looked to Spock with surprise. "Really? Vulcan male? Huh, I wouldn't've guessed that one."

"Why not?" Spock asked. "I was given a vocabulary and spent the most time on Vulcan. I indentify the most strongly with their Surakian principles. And I find myself to be male. Therefore, I would most like –,"

"A Vulcan man. Alright," Jim nodded, "when you put it like that, I can see it." He took a minute to go through his mental photo gallery. "You know I don't think I've ever seen a Vulcan in person."

Spock's ears suddenly stood straight up and began quivering slightly in excitement. "You shall soon."

Jim swiveled around as the door opened to reveal a _footstool_, of all things, and a tall, thin, pale figure with dark hair.

He stared quizzically at the footstool for a few seconds before the sharply tipped, curling legs of the thing opened up and began walking, spiderlike, towards the desk. It halted sharply just before Jim's chair. 'There's no place like home,' was stitched in teal on the purple cushion top.

It turned back around and gestured with its brass legs for the pale man to walk further into the room. The – yes, he was definitely Vulcan – Vulcan man stiffly moved to the desk and stopped with a relieved air, like moving that whole fifteen feet was a monumental effort.

Jim turned to Dam Kore with concern, but she held up a hand to stop him from speaking. "An uninhabited shell is exponentially less humanoid than an inhabited one. Unbonded, they are truly just machines."

Jim nodded and craned to look up at the machine. _Gods_, but he was tall. He had to be at least six and a half feet. The blonde squinted at the shell. "Wait, how's Spock gonna get _in_ there? I don't see a dock."

Spock looked about ready to explode from the anticipation. "There is a station at the base of its throat," he said, "lower the collar of his shirt; it is where the suprasternal notch is located on a human."

Jim gave Dam Kore a look – pull down the guy's collar? That felt like harassing Spock's future-form – but she motioned for him to go right on ahead. Jim shrugged, stood, and snagged the shell's collar with two fingers.

Well, what'd'ya know. A little, two by one centimeter rectangle was inscribed just where the collarbones parted. "Do you want me to plug in Spock's power cord? What do I do?"

"He has a central control outlet, yes?"

"Righto." Jim gently picked up the little green cube – still buzzing excitedly – and felt around for the right panel. "Here we are."

The central control outlet was so you could connect a machine right to a computer and rewrite their codes manually. It was ridiculously useful for replicators and stuff, and apparently it also came in handy when you needed to transfer the consciousness of an intelligent being from one form to another.

Jim carefully pried open the panel and unfurled the cord. "Ready, Spock?"

"Yes."

"'Kay, I'm attaching you in three…two…one…in!"

The fake skin that covered the dock gave way easily to the plug. The cube shivered slightly, and then went totally silent. The humanoid shell shuddered, but its eyes didn't open.

Jim looked to the Dam with confusion. Had he done something wrong?

She was staring intently, expectantly at the Vulcan shell. Jim heard a rasping noise, and then another, and he turned and…

That was _definitely_ Spock in there, no two ways about it. His new face – his permanent face – was set to 'confused and overwhelmed', and he blinked a bit. Spock squared his new shoulders and turned his head slowly from side to side.

Spock froze when he got Jim in his sights. "James? Is that your face?"

Jim _beamed_ at him. "This's me, Spock."

Spock looked _stunned_. Jim kept right on smiling. "I know I'm short, you don't have to rub it in." Jim was so used to being able to carry Spock in the crook of his arm, and now he had to look up to catch his eyes; it was strange.

Spock didn't smile, quite. But he was still, somehow, clearly grinning. "It is most pleasant to finally see you."

Jim beamed some more. Spock was so _cute_ like this. All shoulders and legs and _my god _those _ears_…

Jim reached up to play with one, but froze when his hand was at shoulder level. "May I touch you? Is that alright?"

Spock considered this quietly before nodding slowly. "…That is acceptable. For you."

Jim's cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling. He slowly moved the rest of the way up – Spock seemed utterly taken with Jim's shoulder, for some reason – and gently touched just the tip of his ear.

Spock froze. Jim pulled back immediately. "I'm sorry, was that –?"

Spock grabbed Jim's hand and put it back where it was. "Continue."

Jim blinked for a moment, then laughed softly and began petting the pleasantly strange little appendage.

Spock purred and just kind of _flumped_ onto him. Jim staggered a bit – _damn_ this guy was _heavy_ – but kept going.

…

Were androids supposed to be this warm?

The blonde looked to Dam Kore for help again. She looked totally, completely, utterly amused. Without smiling. Jim scowled at her. "Hey, is he supposed to be this hot? He's even warmer than I am."

She nodded. "He is a Vulcan. Vulcans are warmer than humans."

How to word this… "But…I mean, he's not made of _meat_. It's the copper in Vulcan's blood that makes them hot. He doesn't have – Wait, _do_ you have blood?"

Spock nodded in the negative, which was kind of uncomfortable because his head was right at Jim's neck, so he managed to whack Jim a couple of times in the chin. "I have no liquid components, but I require a large amount of energy to function, and emit a certain percentage of that energy as heat."

Jim thought deeply in the direction of the wall right over Spock's head. "But…Isn't that really inefficient? Wouldn't the Vulcans rather you be cool and efficient than warm and wasteful?"

"It is not wasteful. It is most accurate. The Vulcan Science Academy was asked to create a shell that was as accurate to an organic being as possible."

"Huh. Weird." Jim shrugged, almost displacing Spock. "Sorry," he said, patting him awkwardly on the head.

Spock didn't seem to mind much, he just purred some more and didn't move from his claim on Jim's torso. Jim looked to Dam Kore once more. "So, what do I do now?"

"Wait for Starfleet to contact you with news of the trial's date. Prepare your case against Spock being declared property of the government. Inform us of the time of the trial, so we may place our reporters in the area." Dam Kore shrugged. "And get much rest as possible. Hopefully, you will be successful."

Jim peered down at the totally blissful Vulcan who was perched on his shoulder. "We will be."

.bdobd.

The trip back to the Academy was way more fun than it had any right to be. The world seemed much brighter when you had an insatiably curious Vulcan next to you – especially when said Vulcan had only just gained the senses of sight, touch, smell, and taste.

"What is this structure's name?"

Jim looked up at the tree where Spock was pointing. "That's a bird's nest. Birds make them every spring so they have a safe place to lay their eggs and raise their babies."

"Why not simply make one nest, and return to it every year?" Spock had apparently been given the _names_ of everything in the universe, but not many of the definitions. He could only really explain things in abstract mathematical or philosophical terms; the VSA had seen fit to give him the explanations for those words.

"Some do." Jim moved to stand next to the quietly ecstatic man and peered up at the apparently haphazard collection of twigs with him. Walking through the park had been a great idea. "But it rains a lot in winter, so they get destroyed."

Spock nodded solemnly. He'd been getting progressively less emotive as time went on; Trifacio had pulled Jim aside in the lobby (_and totally freaked him out_) to say that such was to be expected with a new Vulcan body. The body's programming was beginning to intertwine with Spock's consciousness, just like it was supposed to.

"I understand."

Jim resisted the urge to smother him. "Do you wanna keep moving?"

Spock suddenly seemed worried. "Am I moving too slowly? I apologize."

"What? No, no, we're fine. There's no rush." Jim shrugged awkwardly and scuffed his feet. "There's nothing good waiting for us back at the Academy, anyway."

Spock frowned, just a little bit. He wasn't very expressive around the mouth, but you could see it in his eyes and in the set of his shoulders. "I wish there was some way for you to be able to follow your chosen path, and for I to be able to follow mine. It is most illogical for it to be impossible for us both to get what we desire."

Jim grinned at him. "Yeah. But the world isn't fair. And you need more than I do, right now. It'd be 'illogical' for me to just leave you alone in it, right when you've been thrown in."

Spock blinked pleasantly at him. "I appreciate your efforts."

Jim threw an arm around his shoulders and drew him close. "Yeah, well. I'm doing all this for a really awesome person. That makes it a hell of a lot easier."

Spock blushed green.

Jim gaped.

"Wait; I thought you said you didn't have blood!"

Spock looked back up at the nest, clearly fighting to get his color down. "I do not. I have pigment cells in my skin; they may be activated by certain electrical impulses from my emotive chip."

Jim huffed happily and reached up to tap Spock's earlobe with his nose. "You have a lot of them right here, then," he said.

Spock blushed harder.

Jim decided to take pity on him and nudged him gently with his elbow. "So, you wanna move on?"

Spock nodded, and they made their halting, happy way to the bart station.

.bdobd.

McCoy was waiting in the dorm when they got back.

"What the _hell_ were ya thinking, Jim? _Really?_ Leaving? _NOW?_ You _really_ thought that was a good idea; going AWOL on the first day after you steal –,"

Bones broke off his sentence with a sharp little mouse-squeak. Jim heard Spock step into the dorm behind him. "Facinating."

"You got him a _body?_"

Jim turned to catch Spock's condescending sniff. "McCoy. You are human. I should have suspected as much."

Jim raised his eyebrows; Bones stiffened and spluttered like a kettle boiling over. "Why you little –!"

"Bones!" Jim broke in, "Spock, this is Cadet Leonard H. McCoy, also known as 'Bones'. Bones, this is Spock. I went out today to get him a body. He's Vulcan."

"Well I got _that _much," Bones responded sarcastically. "Why'd you have'ta get it one _today?_"

Jim sighed and started walking towards the bedroom. "Spock is a _he_, Bones, not an _it_. _He_ needed a body so we could go to the trial together. It'd be weird to argue for sentience when he was stuck in a box."

"Speakin' a which," Bones said, "here's the summons." He pulled a piece of comp paper out of his pocket.

'Kirk, James Tiberius?' it asked. Jim pressed the 'yes' icon. 'You have been called as a witness for the opposing side of a Requisition Request.' He pressed 'acknowledged'.

'You will be expected in room A-3 at 0930 hours. Absence will result in charges of contempt of court and of insubordination.'

'Acknowledged'.

Jim sighed and looked over to Spock, who was inspecting the fruit bowl with considerable interest. "We're leaving here at 9 o'clock. The trial's at 9:30 in the Admiral's second room."

Spock nodded absent-mindedly. "Acknowledged. Shall I contact Dam Kore?"

"Who?" Bones asked.

"Head of the ARA," Jim explained over his shoulder. "Yeah, call the Dam," he said to Spock, "and make sure she knows the time of it. It's in room A-3, if she needs to know."

Spock nodded again and tilted his head slightly. "…It is done."

Jim, who was preparing for a good trudge back to the bedroom, stopped. "What?"

"The message has been conveyed and received."

Bones blinked at Spock. "You do email?"

Spock stared consideringly at the doctor for a while, then went back to prodding the Granny Smiths.

.bdobd.

Studying for anything sucked. Studying for a law trial even more so.

Studying for the trial that would end the career you'd always wanted?

Don't even go there.

To say that Jim was in a fowl mood was an understatement. He needed food, but he didn't want to go outside, because he was convinced that the entirety of the cadets knew about the trial. Bones called him paranoid, and Jim hissed at him.

"Jesus," McCoy said, raising his hands, "it's not _my_ fault this is happening."

Well that didn't do anything to make him feel better. Jim hissed some more, letting his Mental Cat Hackles (wonderful little thing to have) rise dramatically.

Bones rolled his eyes and went back to rummaging about the replicator's backup supply stash, apparently hoping that if he just wasted enough time on it, eventually some food would magically appear.

Spock took the moment to stumble blearily into the kitchen, blinking slowly. He hadn't gotten any sleep either – it was his life they were arguing about, after all.

Jim shuffled over to the Vulcan and dragged him into a not-quite-consensual hug. "You're warm."

Spock's blinking was tickling Jim's forehead. The Vulcan must have been slumping a lot, than. "You are not. Have you eaten at all?"

"Not yet; we just realized we're out of replicator base. All we have is," Jim looked over to the bowl, "one Golden Delicious and a Macintosh. Do you need to eat anything?"

"Negative."

Jim looked carefully up at the man. He was even less demonstrative than before; his eyebrows were the only thing that looked the same. His mouth and ears weren't even moving all that much.

Jim poked softly at an eyebrow. It rose gracefully, and Spock reached up to grab Jim's wrist. "I would be most appreciative if you ceased that movement."

Jim blinked at him.

Spock waited a moment for Jim to react, and the eyebrow stayed where it was in clear exasperation. "Have you had coffee yet?"

"There's no replicator."

"You have a coffee pot."

Jim looked suspiciously at the ornery machine. The ancient old thing was infamously testy. "It's…temperamental. I'm not sure we even have any –,"

Spock brushed past him and began opening cupboards. Finding the coffee beans – he must have magical powers, or something – he set the bag down and picked up the pot, flipping the ancient hardware upside down.

"Hey!" Bones yelped. "That's not an easy thing to work, and it'd cost me a fortune to replace –,"

"It will obey me."

Jim and Bones shared a glance that said, '_That_ was ominous.'

Spock set the pot back down and plugged it in. He poured some of the ground black stuff in – hopefully he had a good eye for measurements – and then got what looked to be the proper amount of water. Closing the hatch, Spock turned on the machine.

Nothing happened.

Spock's eyebrow rose quietly.

"It won't work," Bones said tiredly, "if it's the wrong humidity. Don't ask me why, but it's just too moist today. It's an old thing."

"Illogical." Spock rapped the glass pot softly. "It should have no preference in the weather conditions. It has no emotion."

"I'm not sayin' it _does_, I'm sayin' that's how it _works_. Not everything's logical."

Spock took the machine, picked it up about two inches, and the then dropped it back on the ceramic counter with a sharp _bang_. Bones was opening his mouth to shout at the abuse when the old black clunker started up with a whirr.

"There was a circuit that was misaligned," Spock stated to the stunned cadets, "and I fixed it."

Spock went back into the bedroom, leaving the two men to stare owlishly at the burbling pot.

.bdobd.


	5. Blame

A/N: Sorry for the delay, I was in NYC with my grandmother.

.bdobd.

The trial was dragging on into oblivion. Soon, the entirety of Starfleet Academy would be drawn into the never-ending abyss that marked the end of time and the universe.

Jim sighed, again, and sketched out the carnage on the small dataPADD he'd been given to keep any notes on. He'd decided against any long lists in the end: Spock was sitting right next to him; if he got really tripped up the Vulcan wouldn't hesitate to jump in and perform a verbal Heimlich.

The Admiralty had called: all three lab technicians (one at a time, in half hour sessions) to talk about what they saw coming into the lab Thursday morning; Uhura, to testify to seeing Jim leave the Sciences complex with Spock under arm (she seemed a bit too interested in Spock's new form, for Jim's taste; he'd have to warn the Vulcan off of her later); Jim's Statistical Analysis, Tactical Maneuvers, Practical Applications, Theoretical Physics, and Computer Programming teachers (to say whether or not Jim was capable of this feat alone, or if he had some nefarious accomplice stashed away in his right boot).

So that was like, four hours. Straight. Of listening to people restate the same goddamned thing over and over and over again.

Duuuull.

A break was called, and everyone filed on out. The Admirals looked rather toasted. Jim briefly considered the idea that they were going to refuel. He took a moment to imagine them all hooked up to a water cooler, getting liquid pumped back into them: Admirals must be kept moist at all times, don'cha know. Like salamanders.

Why else was the Admiralty stationed in San Francisco?

Jim had moved on to sketching a salamander in an admiral's uniform when Spock peered over his shoulder to inspect the masterpiece.

"…James?"

Jim didn't look up from his sketch. He was busy adding little flames on Admiral Amphibian's tail. "Jim, it's _Jim_, Spock. I _know_ we've gone over this before."

"…Jim. What _are_ you doing?"

It was the most blatantly emotional thing Spock had said in a while. The blonde looked blearily up at the android. "I – I, in my _infinite_ greatness – have figured out the reason for all of the Federation's problems."

Spock blinked solemnly at him. "What is the reason for all of the Federation's problems, Jim?"

"Well, it's obvious." Jim sat back with a satisfied air, _thwunk_ing the PADD down on the table in front of them. "No one can get anything done because we're being led by a team of ambitious amphibians."

Spock looked to the Admiralty's raised table and back to Jim. Then, to the PADD. Finally, the table, Jim, and the PADD again. "…Amphibians."

Jim nodded decisively. "Yes. Amphibians. The secret to life, the universe, and everything, is that all of the Admirals are really salamanders."

"… May I see this dataPADD?"

"Yeah, sure, go ahead."

Spock picked up the PADD like it was liable to explode some time in the inconveniently near future. "… What does the chasm represent?"

"Huh?" Jim leaned closer to Spock to evaluate the PADD's screen. "That's the end of the universe."

"There is a flame-filled chasm at the end of the universe?"

Jim blinked in innocent surprise. "Didn't you know? It also sells hamburgers."

Spock blinked right on back. "The chasm is capable of retail work?"

"Well, it's more the food-service industry. Hamburgers and all."

"Indeed." Spock set the PADD down, thoroughly mystified. "You are filled with… _unconventional_ wisdom, Jim."

Jim beamed at him. "Thank you, Spock."

The man just raised an eyebrow at him. "You appear fatigued."

Jim stretched his arms theatrically over his head. "I didn't have enough of that amazing coffee this morning. Who knew home-brewed could be so _good?_ Usually it tastes all burnt."

Spock ducked his head at the admittedly indirect praise. "I offered to make more. Why did you not answer in the affirmative?"

Jim gave a one-shoulder shrug. "I dunno. I didn't want to make you work more; I guess."

Spock threw him a gently exasperated look, and Jim was opening his mouth to retort, when the Admirals filed back in and the reporters retook their seats.

Dam Kore had been true to her word: there were lots of reporters in the room that were a bit… 'off'. Some didn't blink, but some blinked at strangely regular times, like they'd trained themselves to do so by watching those creepy cat clocks with the swinging tail. A lot of them had skin tones that were obviously aiming for 'human' and had _just_ missed: this one too green, that one a bit too orange, this other having an oddly purple shade around the eyes and nose.

But no matter what they _looked_ like, it was nice to have them here. It did a lot for one's self-confidence, having a sympathetic audience.

"Do you _swear_," Commodore Barnett droned grandly, "to tell the _tru-uth_, the _who-ole tru-th,_ and nothing _but_ the _tru-uth?_"

Jim stood, snagging Spock's elbow on the way up. "_Right palm forward at shoulder height_," he hissed. He straightened. "I do so swear."

Spock repeated the phrase perfectly, to the Commodore's clear displeasure. "I did not _ask_ for the _equipment_ in _question_ to _te-estify_ at the hearing."

Spock went ramrod steel-rod-up-the-ass straight. Jim resisted the urge to growl. "_Spock_ has as much right as I do to speak, _sir._"

"I do not recall calling a _com-pu-ter_ to the stand, Mister James Tiberius Kirk." Barnett leaned forward, "Unless you would like to _enlight-ten me_ and tell me I'm _wrong_ in that. Would you like to do that, _Mister _Kirk?"

"No sir," Kirk ground out, "you never called a _computer_ to the stand. But you called 'Cadet Kirk and whomever else has a significant interest in the case' to speak. It was up on the main board, sir. _Spock_ has a _very_ significant interest in his own future, sir. You could even _ask him yourself_, if you'd like."

This last was said through gritted teeth, and it made the Commodore sniff disdainfully at Kirk. He wasn't the most endearing fellow in the world.

"A _computer_," Barnett drawled, "has no _int-terest_ in _anything_. Therefore, we may –,"

"Safely assume, sir, that Spock is _not _a computer. He is a sentient android and deserves full citizenship and its associated rights!"

The reporters' typing noticeably picked up speed. Barnett was _not_ amused. "You do not inter-_rupt_ me, Mr. Kirk. Is that clear?"

"Not without stated reason sir, that's perfectly clear."

"That is _not_ what I _said_, Kirk!"

"Well I'm _assuming_ you wanted me to find a way to make that sentence make _sense_, _sir_, because the way you _said_ it makes it _sound _like you're ordering me to be quiet _at my own trial!_"

Barnett looked mad enough to spit.

"If we could sit, Commodore?" Spock asked quietly.

There would be no love to be lost between Spock and Barnett, that was for fucking sure. "You _may_, _Mis_-ter Kirk."

"And Spock?" Kirk asked, still standing proud with his arms crossed.

The Commodore raised a sarcastic brow. "_Oh?_ I _thought_ it _spoke_ for _you_."

If _anyone_, _ever_, in the _history_ of the _universe_, needed to be kicked in the nuts, then Commodore Barnett got the honor of being first. Officially.

Unofficially, the man should just be kicked in the nuts, and someone could find an excuse later.

"If I may speak, Commodore?" Admiral Archer's voice had gone hoarse and scratchy with age, but he was still perfectly understandable.

Barnett waved the old man on, content to glare daggers at Kirk for the time being.

"Spock, how did you get a shell within a day of being reprogrammed?"

Both Kirk and Barnett looked to Archer totally stunned, only Barnett looked ready to smother the guy with a pillow and Kirk just wanted to _kiss_ him til he passed out. Spock's shoulders relaxed from their previous Anxious/Hurt/Offended position, into a simple Respectful one.

"James was able to contact the leader of the Android's Rights Association within three point eight three hours of my Awakening. He left campus at great personal cost and took me to their headquarters, where they had one shell in storage. That shell is the one that I currently inhabit."

"Do you have any proof that Mr. Kirk didn't plan your Awakening earlier than stated, and set up a shell to be waiting for you at the headquarters?"

This was one one hundred and forty-six year old that needed a few obsessive groupies. Right now. Preferably Orion ones.

Spock considered this quietly. "…I can provide you with the entirety of the transcripts of the conversations that I had with Dam Kore, the head of the Android's Rights Association, that show that James had not contacted them before my Awakening. But I think such an order would be considered – the Terran term is, I believe, 'overkill'.

"James Kirk did not have the motivation to contact an association that would be sure to disagree with his plans for the sole reason of finding a shell for me. The Android's Rights Association does not support the creation of androids out of non-sentient machines. They would not have reacted positively towards his plans. They would not have aided him.

"In fact, they most likely would have turned him over to the Admiralty for discipline. The only reason Dam Kore found reason to assist James was that James genuinely did not intend to create a sentient being. I was an accident, and James was attempting to care for me."

Jim could be an Archer groupie after he finished with Spock. It wouldn't be cheating if he did them both separately, right?

"Mr. Kirk, your opinion on Spock's statement?" Admiral Archer prompted.

"I agree with all of what Spock said," Jim responded with a semi-casual shrug. "No sane person that I know of has ever accused the ARA of supporting the creation of androids from computers not designed for that kind of programming. Too many things can go wrong; the androids usually end up miserable and suicidal.

"So if I'd wanted to call the ARA to get a not-yet-created-Spock a shell, I'd have to find a way to convince an entire organization to change their entire message for one little cadet. That's not reasonable, and it doesn't make any sense. I _accidently_ gave Spock sentience, and I'm trying to provide as much as I can for him now."

Admiral Archer looked over to Barnett with a blasé wave of a hand. "That's all I wanted to know. Carry on, Commodore."

Barnett looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. "_Thank_ you, Archer." He turned back to Kirk and Spock. "Would you _both_ like to sit? _We_ have got a busy day ahead of us."

The two men sat with much appreciative nodding and pleased noises. Jim had to fight laughter at Barnett's 'I'm not furious look how calm I am _you goddamned bastards_' face. It was _amazing_.

Now perfectly chipper, Jim squared his shoulder and looked expectantly around the Admiralty's table. _'Bring it, fuckers.'_

Admiral Komack made a motion to speak, and Barnett waved him on. "Mr. Kirk, you say that you did not expect Spock to become sentient when you reprogrammed him. I've looked over your plans, the ones you sent off to Sciences with the Sentience Acknowledgement form, and I've gotta ask: What the hell did you _think_ would happen?"

Jim nodded slowly. "Right. _That_ is actually an _excellent_ question. You see, I had thought (not being an expert on AI) that there was a _separate program_ designed to give sentience to machines. I hadn't expected it to just be 'Plug Emotion into Logic and, chain reaction, intelligent thought!' I had no idea that was how it worked."

Komack was clearly Not Impressed.

"Hey, it's not like there're _How to: _guides on this stuff! Everyone was so worried about leaking ways to make androids that they forgot to put out how to avoid doing it as a mistake! What was I _supposed_ to think? _You're_ the guys with all the Confidential information around here."

Admiral Chandra leaned over to Komack. 'He has a point,' Jim could see him whisper. Jim thought about giving Spock a fist bump under the table, but scrapped the idea when he remembered that Spock probably wouldn't know what that meant.

Komack hummed to himself for a moment. "Why didn't you ask some other cadets to help you, then? Why go it alone?"

"Well, I didn't know there was any chance of failure, so I didn't know that getting more assistance would be a _really great idea_. I just thought of it as a way to beat a test. And why would you ask other people to help you in beating a test you've figured out? That doesn't make any sense."

Komack nodded slowly. "I just do not understand that someone of your intelligence could not have predicted some sort of issue with this plan. It just doesn't make any sense to me."

Jim squirmed. "Well, I'd figured that the Meson emotion chips were so bad, that it'd actually short circuit right after I reset the wires."

Spock turned to him with confusion. "What do you mean?" 

"Well, Meson's known for being really terrible at making AI. All of their androids wind up suicidal. I don't know why. So I figured I had about fifteen seconds to program the concept of infinity into the Maru before the entire thing started spitting sparks."

Admiral Lui made a motion to speak. "In regards to the rewiring of the Maru: You _were_ successful, I understand? Spock is capable of an infinite improbability field?"

"I am capable of such a field," Spock answered. "And I would not be opposed to utilizing it while a non-sentient improbability field generator was being produced. But I will not work while I am classified as a simple computer. I am sentient."

Admiral Lui nodded and sat back, looking expectantly at Barnett. The Commodore grimaced. "Recess."

And everyone filed out again.

.bdobd.

Dam Kore's reporters made a big fuss about how obvious it was from the beginning that Spock would win the trial.

Jim was too busy squeezing the breath out of Spock to care.

And Spock _didn't even_ breathe. _That's_ how hard he was hugging.

"James?"

"I's Jim, Sp'k." It came out a bit muffled from Jim's face being smushed into Spock's shoulder.

"… Indeed. Jim, are you able to breathe in that position?"

"Enu'f."

Spock grabbed Jim right under his ribs and just kind of _dragged_ Jim off of him. The blond pouted, making the Vulcan raise an eyebrow, making Jim beam again. "We _won._"

Spock did this odd eye-smile thing that was _amazing_ and made him totally hug-worthy. So Jim latched onto him again. "Indeed, Jim," Spock started petting Jim's hair hesitantly, "we did."

They were standing in a hallway off of the courtroom, about as far away as they could get from the reporters without actually going to a different floor. Jim planted his chin on Spock's shoulder – he had to stretch a bit to get up there, how weird was that? – and started listing activities, his teeth clacking shortly with every word.

"So, I'm outta the Fleet now. We could… go out for lunch. Do you eat? I don't think you do; nevermind. We could… look for a place to sleep. We could… go to the Castro. _That'd_ be fun, you in Gay Central. We could… Hey, we should go say hi to Dam Kore! Maybe we could get work there, too."

Jim hummed contemplatively. "We should do that. Whadya think?"

Spock was holding himself verra verra still. "You… are no longer part of Starfleet?"

"What?" Jim pulled back to look at Spock's face. The android was clearly upset and confused. "Well, yeah. If I testify, I'm out of the Fleet. That's what Dam Kore said, remember?"

Spock still had that horrible empty look on his face. "They can't reclaim property from themselves. If I was working for the Fleet, the Admiralty couldn't've told me to give you back, because I would still technically be part of their organization. They would have to prove that I was going to steal you away, and the fact that I returned to grounds after going AWOL means they can't say that.

"So the only way they can accuse me of stealing you is to make it so that I'm no longer part of them. As long as you're with me when they fire me, than you're mine and we can then disagree over who is supposed to get you."

Jim shrugged softly. "So the very fact that I was _here_ means that I'm fired. I'm not a Cadet any more. Didn't you notice Barnett being a dick about it?"

Spock opened and closed his mouth a few times, as though the action alone would be enough to formulate a response. "… I… No. I had… I had believed that we had won. I had thought that you had been able to retain your position."

Jim smiled sadly. "No. I'm just Jim Kirk again."

Spock stood there for a moment, just looking at him. Then he pulled Jim into a rib-busting hug. "… I am… _deeply_ apologetic that you were forced to surrender so much for me."

Jim patted him on the back awkwardly; his upper arms were pinned to his torso. "I wasn't _forced_ to; I _chose_ to. You needed it more than me."

Spock tightened his grip. Jim wheezed. "I am so sorry."

"'S okay," the blonde panted, "we'll be alright together."

The android nodded against Jim's shoulder. "Affirmative."

Jim was trying to gasp in air in a sort of a quiet way when Spock finally relaxed his death grip on Jim's ribcage. Spock realized what Jim was doing in a widening of already huge brown eyes and _shot_ back ten feet. "I am sorry; I did not intend to harm you; I had not realized that I was asphyxiating you; I am sorry –,"

"Spock."

Spock flinched and stopped talking with a whimper. Kirk walked confidently over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "You. Are not. To blame. This is not your fault. I got the _both_ of us into this. Now, I'm paying for it. I did what I wasn't supposed to do, and now I'm being punished. This is NOT your fault."

Spock whined with a metallic scraping and leaned into Kirk. Jim sighed and started rubbing the android's back. "Yeah. I know."

.bdobd.

So they'd wound up going to the ARA after all, which had been _awesome_. Spock had been so fun to watch on the bart; he was all subtly horrified cheekbones and quietly ecstatic eyes.

He'd even been appropriately morally shocked at the sight of his first homeless person (right outside of the ARA, of all places), for which Jim had been rather ironically proud: it wasn't like he'd brought Spock up himself, but it was good to see that the Vulcan had all of his sympathy circuits in check.

Spock had the picked up on Jim's mood and gotten almost-annoyed at him for being callous. Spock didn't call it that, of course, but that's what he meant. Thought that counts, and all that jazz.

"I _still_ do _not _understand how part of a population is supplied with more resources than another; such is totally illogical and is a situation that must be rectified at the soonest possible opportunity."

Jim kept on dragging Spock into the lobby, though the man continued bitching mightily. Jim sent a chipper smile over to Trifacio, who was done up in pastel blue today. One of her faces gave him A Look.

He blinked innocently, milking the fact that he was, actually, innocent. For all he knew. "What?"

"Your trial has made my work load increase by nearly 300%. Dam Kore is expecting you. Please attend."

Jim nodded and snapped off a sharp salute. "Yes'm." He grabbed the Spock by his Starfleet regulation belt loop and started lugging him in the direction of the Orion elevator.

"You have not answered my query as to why some portions of the population are to be privileged over others!"

"God damn it Spock, you're not making this easy on me." Jim latched onto one of the Vulcan's pants pockets and panted for a bit.

"Look. If you find a cure for poverty, I will stand beside you at the Nobel Prize Award Ceremony and look pretty. I'll even help you draft your speech, if you want. But you gotta move now, you'll need credits to help you get started and neither of us have work and I think we're late for a meeting with our prospective boss."

Spock finally turned away from the front of the lobby to look at Jim. "Oh. You are fatigued."

Jim tired to glare at him, but he was pretty sure it failed when Spock looked concerned instead. "You're heavy."

Spock slumped slightly – in submission? Maybe? – and grabbed Jim's shirtsleeve lightly with three fingers. "I shall follow."

Jim blinked at him, then sighed. "If you don't want to be here, if you don't want to be with me, then leave. It's better for you to go now, if that's the case, then for us to go any farther and split up then."

Spock looked… Terrified. Absolutely terrified. "Jim, what… What have I done wrong?"

Jim squinted at him. "What?" His eyes widened. "No! No, no no no no, if _you_ don't want it, not if _I_ –,"

"I had not realized that I had been so difficult; I am sorry; I am sorry –,"

Jim dragged Spock quickly into the empty hallway with the elevator doors. "You. Are not. To blame. This. Is _not_. Your fault. If _you_ would like to leave –,"

Jim grabbed Spock's chin and moved him so that he was finally looking him in the eyes. "If _you_ want to leave, then you can. It is _your_ decision to make. It is _your _life. If you _don't _want to leave, then stay. If you disagree with what I'm doing, tell me, and we can discuss it. If you don't, then you can feel free to come along with me. I can't promise that we'll end up anywhere good, but I can promise that it'll be one hell of a ride."

The blonde smiled tremulously. "I'd love to have you around. I really would. But I won't ask you to stay and I won't order you to come with me. It's your life and they're your choice to make."

Spock seemed to quail under the sudden burst of concentrated sincerity. He made a little keening noise in the back of his throat and _flumphed_ onto Jim again.

Jim winced at the weight, but managed to stay standing. He wrapped his arms around Spock's waist and let the Vulcan deal with whatever-it-was in the relative silence of the elevator hall.

.bdobd.


	6. Pie, and Other Sweets

A/N: I got a snake! He's a rat snake, about three feet long, named Babaghanouj. Roasted eggplant, FTW! He's sitting next to me on my desk, now :D

Tim Hortons is sort of a Canadian Starbucks. Or, more like Pete's, come to think of it. Thank Product of a Sick Society for the info.

Prosaic means unromantic or commonplace.

Fans of Lost in Translation (all seven of you *waves*) will recognize the elephant reference.

.bdobd.

Dam Kore, Jim decided, was not built to be 'happy'. Something about the way her face had been constructed made her… almost _chipper_ behavior totally fucking creepy.

"Greetings! Mr. Kirk, I am so pleased that you have decided to join our cause."

Jim was still fighting off the chills that were running up and down his spine when Spock responded. "Is there any way for my creator to regain his former title? It is not fair that his work in Starfleet should come to naught because of me."

Dam Kore seemed a bit taken aback by this. "It was his choice to do so. Would you have his will be subordinate to yours?"

Jim felt Spock become _absolutely horrified_ and spun to calm him down. "_Spock_, honey, it's okay, it's alright, I'm fine. We just stick together and this'll be alright. C'mon babe, keep easy –,"

"What is the significance of you calling me 'honey'?" Spock asked, totally distracted from his earlier terror. Jim would have to remember _that_ little distraction tactic for later.

"Um. Well. It's usually used for family members and spouses, I guess. And kids."

"It is an affectionate diminutive label," Dam Kore supplied.

Jim gestured to her grandly. "What she said."

Spock processed this slowly. "… Diminutive?"

"Well, I mean," _shit_, "sorta, but, more affectionate, I guess."

Spock was still blinking at him like _he_ was the crazy one. "Look, never mind." Jim turned so that he was facing Dam Kore again. "So, do you have any work for us? Any way to earn a living?"

She walked around her desk and began riffling through some dataPADDs. Spock pushed gently at the small of Jim's back, softly urging him forward.

They were about two feet in front of her desk when she finally found a green PADD and handed it to Spock. "There is a form here for you. It is for an administrative and lobbying position within the company." She handed a different, brackish grey PADD to Jim. "Here are your liability forms. You are to be assigned your first mission in two days. Do you have sufficient funds to supply yourself with food and water for that time?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah, I have about six hundred credits in a savings account with the Bank of Bolias. Should I withdraw it all? I'm gonna need to rent a place to stay."

Dam Kore sat at her chair and motioned to a side door. The footstool with the brass legs scuttled out. She leaned down to speak to it. "Retrieve the Bolarus IX PADD from the financial offices. Capiche?"

The back two legs of the stool tapped twice in a cheery sort of acknowledgement before all of the appendages extended and carried the purple and teal creation back through the door. Jim watched it go, utterly fascinated.

"You shall withdraw your funds for the sole purpose of buying yourself sustenance; we shall be able to provide your lodgings _is there something you wish to ask, Mr. Kirk?_"

Jim started at Dam Kore's suddenly accusatory tone. "Um! I was just, ah,"

"The shell of an android has no bearing on it's level of intelligence; Prosaic is in fact a wonderful worker and –,"

"Who was Prosaic's designer?" Spock asked, coming heroically to Kirk's rescue.

"He was sick and twisted mind." Dam Kore spun about to face her fantastic window. "A man wished for the perfect servant to please his guests. He found his favorite piece of furniture and endowed it with sentient thought. It became his slave. It fetched food for his guests and prostrated itself for its master. A starship captain came one day to investigate the man for fraud, and saw the slave, and took it aboard the ship."

"That is all very well," Spock said conversationally, "but I asked for Prosaic's story, not your own." Jim looked up sharply from his PADD, but Dam Kore didn't turn around. It sure as hell would explain the riots she'd supported, or her strong lobbying career.

Dam Kore huffed what may have been considered a laugh. "Prosaic was a later model of my same programming. Prosaic was not endowed with a humanoid form, and grew to prefer his own simplified shell. He is my brother, of sorts."

"I wonder if I have any siblings," Spock mused. "I was never informed of any such beings, but it seems illogical to contemplate that I was created from scratch with no prototypes."

"You do, probably," Jim said. "You're too good to have just come out of nothing. I was researching you yesterday; something about you being a Bambleweeny 57? Are there fifty-six other Sub-Mesons hanging around?"

"Unlikely." Dam Kore swiveled so that she was facing her guests again. "Most failed experiments are scrapped after a successful model is produced. But one may have been overlooked. I shall put out a call for others of your model, and see what I am able to find."

Spock nodded quietly and went about filling out his form. Jim tried to follow his example, but was caught up in the idea of fifty-six other Spock hanging around. Would they look like Spock? Act like him? Were each of them like human kids, all totally different?

"_Yes, Mr. Kirk?_"

Jim jumped slightly and started tapping away. He caught a glimpse of Spock glaring accusingly at Dam Kore out of the corner of his eye, and smothered a grin.

It wasn't like she looked very intimidated, anyway. More, 'Bitch, _please_.' With a snap.

It was official. Spock _needed_ to go to Castro.

The android handed his completed forms over to Dam Kore, who stared aloofly and expectantly at Kirk, who shrugged with self-deprecation. "Sorry. I'm slow."

"Would you like some assistance? I know most of your basic information, I believe."

Jim smiled at Spock, but shook his head. "I think I'm good. It's the whole 'remembering the social security number' thing that I'm stuck on. I know where I was born."

"Ah, yes," Dam Kore said, "you also need to complete an informational packet." The malicious fiend ruffled through her desk drawer.

"I thought that's what I was doing," Jim mewled helplessly. Spock sidled over, clearly trying to Be Sneaky, and began tugging gently at Jim's sleeve for the PADD.

"No, this is for the media," Dam Kore said, as if it mattered at all. "I do not wish to field three dozen calls from twenty different sources all asking for your birthday and middle name." She found the PADD that she was looking for – in an ominous yellow shade called simply 'That-Scary-Shit-At-The-Back-Of-The-Fridge'– and perched herself on the edge of her chair. "I shall just ask you these out loud while you complete the other –,"

"That is unfair," Spock broke in. "You realize that Jim is incapable of completing three different questionnaires at once. Let him finish the ones you have already assigned him."

Jim sent him a soppy look. "I am seriously almost done. I just have, like, three to go on this one." He shifted his weight from foot to foot, hoping that it'd come off as more of a jaunty excited move than a nervous 'I'd really really like a chair, please' sort of thing.

Though, that chair might be nice. If he was going to be a civilian now, he should at least get to bitch as much as one.

He thought of what would happen if he sat on Prosaic, and got a forbidding vision of blood and gore and lots of carpet cleaners. He got back to work on the PADDs and let Spock tussle with Dam Kore.

"It is a simple matter of –,"

"It is simple," Spock was starting to sound exasperated, "all three of them are. But organic humans have very little ability to multitask. If you wish all three to be completed well, as you most probably do, it would do you well to –,"

"To what, Mister Spock?"

Dam Kore sounded none-too-pleased. Spock, apparently realizing that he'd overstepped some kind of bounds (but probably with no _clue_ which one he'd screwed with; Jim made a mental note to explain it too him later), began to backtrack. Really, really badly.

It was hard to apologize for something when you didn't know what you've done wrong.

"I meant no offense; I just find it unreasonable to expect my creator to complete a task that you know him to be incapable of."

"Why is his status as your creator so important? Why does that carry so much weight with you?"

Ah. The crux of the matter. Jim began to frantically wrack his brain for his mother's maiden name. Ridder? Wright? Rund?

"Ryder!"

Both of the androids turned to look at him oddly. Jim blushed sheepishly. "Mom's maiden name. Winona J. Ryder." He entered the information into the appropriate spot and handed over the two PADDs with just a little, teeny bit of smug glee.

Just a bit, you understand.

Dam Kore took the machines with what Jim considered exaggerated relief. Spock didn't look too pleased, either. "Now," she started, "full given name."

"Talking to me, right?"

The woman gave him a look, one that said nothing at all positive about his mental abilities.

Jim decided that he hated her. Enough was enough. He felt bad for her, but he hadn't been the one to rape her, damn it, and he'd just given up a lot for her cause.

"Yes. I am addressing you."

Spock didn't look too pleased, either. He moved to stand protectively behind Jim, who pretended that he didn't notice. "My full name is James Tiberius Kirk. I've never changed it."

Legally. The whole 'JT' thing had been rather unofficial.

"Date and place of birth?"

"January 4, 2233. And I was born from sector 45.02 through sector 52.57."

Dam Kore looked up from her PADD. "Really."

"Yep. Born on a shuttle."

She didn't look at all impressed. "They move, you know," he said, helpfully. "Fly about. Sometimes in space. They don't usually make a '_zoom_' sound, even though a lot of people say they do, because sound doesn't travel in a vacuum."

Jim felt Spock become utterly amused behind him. "I know what a shuttle is," Dam Kore responded flatly.

"Excellent!" Jim beamed. "Just wanted to make sure we all were on the same page."

She sighed heavily (which was completely for show; she didn't have to breathe) and continued as if saying every syllable was a chore. "Important dates and/or events in your life to date?"

"What, as opposed to my life in the future?"

"Just answer my question."

"I believe it to be a salient query," Spock piped up from the back.

Jim didn't want Spock getting into this. "_Hsst_! Driver picks the music, passenger shuts his pie hole."

He could _feel_ Spock's totally befuddled look. "… I do not see what relevance such a –,"

"He is ordering you to be silent," Dam Kore stated flatly.

Jim spluttered indignantly. "I am _not!_ If I were _ordering_ him, I'd say 'Spock, do this'. What I said was that it'd be best for him not to get involved." He twisted his torso around to look at the wounded party. "Seriously, just let her get angry with me. You don't have to deal with this shit."

Spock looked hurt. "You should not have to be insulted. You do not deserve such treatment."

Jim smiled warmly. "Thanks. Obviously, not everyone agrees, though. Just let me fight my own battles."

"You protect me from any such issues. May I not return the favor?"

"I do that because I don't want you getting hurt," Jim pointed out, rather reasonably, he thought, "and that wouldn't really work if I stuck up for you when you were getting attacked, and then let you muck about in my fights, would it?"

"I am not fighting you," Dam Kore said, clearly offended, "I am simply attempting to complete a standard survey and you are being unnecessarily obtuse."

"As opposed to the normal, totally acceptable levels of stupidity, I presume?"

"What?" Trifacio said. "When did this start?"

The three rather surprised people turned about to see the three-faced secretary standing, quite confused, in the doorway. One face was trained on each other person in the room. "I brought a beverage," she explained helpfully, "for my newest organic coworker."

Jim felt a warm, mushy feeling start somewhere around the liver area. "Aww. Thank you."

His face beamed cheerfully. Spock's was getting an inscrutable look, and Dam Kore's was downright suspicious. Trifacio wheeled over and handed Jim a black coffee. "I did not know if you were allergic to milk. It has artificial sweetener in it, however."

"Two?"

"Yes."

"Perfect!" He slurped noisily. "Hey, this is good. Hortons'?"

The panel with his face on it rotated downward in a 'yes' nod. "There are two other organics within the building. They frequent the establishment."

Jim hummed appreciatively. "Which blend is that?" Spock asked.

"Standard roast. Caffeinated."

Jim saw Spock carefully file away the information for later. Dam Kore was Not Amused. "If we could return to the subject at hand?"

"To which are you referring?" Spock asked cattily. "There were several."

"_Major events or dates, Mr. Kirk?_"

"Applied to the 'Fleet two years ago in early February." Jim shlurped again, just to piss her off. "Created Spock by accident yesterday. It's the, ah, fifth, I think, so, the fourth of June of this year."

It'd be snowing in hell before he'd tell her about Tarsus. Spock seemed to pick up on it, but thankfully the man didn't say anything. He was pretty cool like that.

"Anything else? High school graduation, perhaps?"

"Ugh. No. Horrible place, that."

The woman cocked an eyebrow but didn't say anything else. "Comments on family?"

Jim blinked at her. "Whadya mean?"

"Do you have any siblings, or especially close relationships with certain familial members," Trifacio supplied.

"Oh. One older brother – George Samuel Kirk, everyone calls him Sam, six years older than me – and… no real cousins… And all of my grandparents are dead."

"Parents?"

"I've got some, yeah."

All three of Trifacio's faces grinned, which Jim counted as a major accomplishment. She didn't look like she was going anywhere soon, which probably totally irritated Dam Kore and made Jim very pleased. Spock didn't seem to mind her, either.

"I believe she means to indicate whether or not they are alive, and related information."

"Mom's alive, Dad's dead. If the reporters get more interested, tell them to look up the Kelvin Incident. That should keep them busy for a while."

Spock had inhaled sharply at the mention of the Kelvin, and Jim sent up a little prayer when he didn't say anything further. Dam Kore just looked at him oddly and put it down; she may not have been sentient twenty-odd years ago.

Did that mean that Spock was older than Dam Kore? But, didn't everything before yesterday not count?

He'd have to ask the other two 'organics' about android manners.

"Very well. That is all."

Jim gave a short salute. "When are we to report back to the building?" Spock asked.

"You are to stay here overnight," Dam Kore said. Jim was gearing up for a good long argument about _that_ decision, when she continued with, "as the media is most likely looking for you two. It is best for you to remain indoors for now."

"Come, I will show you your quarters," Trifacio ordered.

Jim looked to Spock for help, but he just raised a slightly exasperated eyebrow. Jim snorted and followed Trifacio out the door. There could be worse things, he thought, than staying in a heated building overnight.

.bdobd.

Trifacio had led them to a floor beneath the lobby – having a _fantastic_ row with the elevator on the way down; it was _epic_ – and directed them to a little ten-by-twelve off of a long hallway.

"There is a cot here," she said, pointing to a cot, "and an outlet here." She flicked the finger over to a wall opposite the ubiquitous army-green, steel-tubing-and-tarp, I-Can't-Believe-People-Sleep-On-These-Things cot to where a few very comfortable looking pillows rested beneath a very ordinary looking wall socket. The only strange thing about it was that it was set about four feet off of the floor.

Jim made a note to be careful about wearing any belts in the room.

Spock was frowning at the cot. "Is that all that is available for him?"

"I'll be fine," Jim answered automatically.

"You do not have to settle, however." Spock did not look pleased. "Is that really the only option? It appears very bad for a human spine."

Trifacio shrugged. "The other organics –,"

"Humans."

"No, organics. One is Andorian."

"Surely, calling an entire sect of the population 'organics' is as rude as an entire sect being called 'metalbrains'," Spock said with another Unhappy Face.

"Where did you hear that," Jim demanded. "If it was Bones I swear to god I will –,"

"There was a reporter who wrote about the trial," Spock explained, "and I was reading the comments section, and someone used the term in a derogatory manner."

Jim skulked a bit in peaceful protest. Spock blinked at him, clearly bewildered.

"What do you propose we call the three of them?" Trifacio asked.

Spock was opening his mouth to answer when Jim preformed a sweeping interception. "Look, it really doesn't matter."

Spock was going to disagree when Jim interrupted him again. "No, seriously. If I called you a metalhead, right now, would you be offended?"

"Negative. However –,"

"It's not the _word_, it's the _meaning_. When someone says a slur, it's not the sounds that annoy you, it's the idiot who thinks that the meaning _behind_ the word applies to you. I don't care what you call people that are made out of meat, as long as you don't mean it to offend me."

Jim grinned. "'Cause that's when I'll get offended. And don't worry," he winked, "I won't be shy about telling you."

Spock didn't seem pleased, but he accepted the explanation nonetheless. Jim resolved to smother him when Trifacio left. "Are you in need of anything else?" she asked.

"Water fountain?"

"In the lobby, near the restrooms. There is what is reportedly an excellent delicatessen three doors down from us, towards Tantalus Avenue."

Jim turned to Spock again. "That's it for me. You need anything?"

He considered the question carefully. "What are we to do when we awaken tomorrow morning?"

"The majority of the time will be spent familiarizing yourself with the layout of the building and its various employees. Either Dam Kore or I may direct you to respond to specific statements. You may wish to apologize to Marta, she appeared most displeased with your conduct."

This last was addressed only to Spock, who puffed up self-defensively. "I did nothing wrong."

Trifacio raised three of her six eyebrows, one per face. "Really?"

Jim yawned theatrically. "Ri_-ight_. I'm going to _bed_." He turned away, towards the cot, and began rummaging about for those blankets that were stuffed underneath the tarpish bit of the 'bed'.

"I apologize, you must be tired," Trifacio said, sounding genuinely contrite. "I will leave you be."

"Thanks, Trifacio. See you tomorrow."

"We are most appreciative of your assistance," Spock added.

She whirred happily. "Goodbye."

Jim heard the door shut.

He raised his head cautiously from underneath the cot. "… Is she gone?"

Spock gave him a bemused look. "Yes."

Jim sighed hugely and flopped onto his cot. "Well. _That_ was a busy day."

Spock nabbed a pillow for himself and tossed a cushion over to Jim, who noticed the elephant theme with great amusement.

"Love the print."

"What are you –? Oh." Spock looked at the cushion like it was a hand-knitted something-or-other that a relative gave him for Christmas, something that he was dreading having to wear in the near future. "Yes. It is… Colorful."

Jim laughed and stuffed the fluffy thing underneath his back. "You say it like it's a bad thing."

"… I was not expecting it, no."

The blonde snorted and rolled onto his stomach. "So, it's…" he checked his watch, "about… fuck, it's only four. What're we gonna do for eight hours?"

"Eight? You will be asleep in four."

Jim sat up with a challenging grin. "Me? In bed, at eight? Please. You underestimate my amazing skills at all things sleep-related." He flexed his pecs, looking for a reaction.

Spock got a sultry smile all of a sudden. "Maybe I am overestimating them," he purred. "It is difficult to tell without any proof."

Jim's jaw dropped.

Spock kept up the heated look for all of ten seconds before breaking it with a subtly triumphant mini-grin. Jim's jaw fell even further when he realized he'd been conned, and threw his pillow into the android's face.

"Bastard! When'd you learn that?" 

Spock pulled the pillow off his head with a sort of long-suffering, almost amused grace, which is pretty goddamned hard to pull off when the thing in question in covered in gaily marching Technicolor elephants.

"The same websites that the reporters post on also host many advertisements."

"Buull-_shit_. You did not learn to give _that_ look because of a _porn ad_."

"I never stated it was an advertisement for pornography."

Jim spluttered. "That is the _weakest–!_"

"It was the weakest? Ever? In the entirety of your –,"

"You are totally missing the point and I _know_ you are doing it on purpose!"

Spock smiled, and Jim's brain stopped pleasantly. He gave it a few moments to reboot. "… Anyway… So, um, what _are_ we gonna do for eight hours?"

"Four."

"Six."

"Four."

"Five and a half."

"Four."

"Fine, four, you fucker. Why's it so important to you, anyway?"

Spock's left eyebrow had done a balletic little leap at the curse word, but he didn't seem offended. "You do require a significant rest period, contrary to your apparent beliefs."

"I don't need _that_ much sleep," Jim argued pathetically. He was totally going to lose this one.

Spock just raised the other eyebrow.

Jim lost this one.

"Fine," he grumped, "but you get to figure out how to kill four hours."

"Why did Dam Kore become irritated when I attempted to suggest another course of action? It was when you were completing the first two forms."

"Ah." Jim rolled onto his stomach facing Spock, and propped his head on his folded arms. Spock tossed him another cushion. Jim caught it with a muttered thanks.

"She thought you were overstepping your bounds. She's the boss, so she makes the decisions. You're the employee, and you follow her orders. She had ordered me – fellow employee – to complete a set of tasks, and you – also, employee – were trying to buck her orders."

"She saw my protection of you as insubordination?" Spock sounded utterly bewildered.

"… More or less."

"This may be more difficult than I had imagined," the Vulcan muttered to himself. Jim snorted.

"We'll be fine, just so long as we stick together. I, for example, have no clue how to ask an android what gender they identify as without Incurring the Wrath of the Scorned. Any tips?"

"… No."

"…"

Spock shrugged, a little bit. "I have not been sentient for long," he explained, "and have not witnessed many human-to-android interactions. All I know of human behavior comes from my own limited programming on the subject, and my encounters with you, Doctor McCoy, and the Admiralty."

Jim blinked at him for a while. "… We have got to get you out of the house."

"What?"

"Human phrase. I have to find a way to set up more… social encounters for you, so that your social skills will improve."

"I understand. What does the phrase, 'Driver picks the music, passenger shuts his pie hole' mean?"

"… Right. Um." Shit. "So, you know the layout of old Terran cars, right?"

"Yes."

"Passenger seat, driver's seat, standard location for a radio, and all that?"

"Yes."

"So the person who's driving the passenger to wherever they need to be has the privilege of choosing the type of music the two of them will listen to, and the passenger, the recipient of the driver's good will, can't argue with that choice."

"So, pie hole is Terran slang for mouth?"

"Yeah."

"… What _possible_ connection did that phrase have with the conversation at hand –?"

"I was trying to say that you, in the 'passenger' role –,"

"I understood that part of the relationship, yes," Spock said sarcastically. Jim hadn't known that Spock… _did_… sarcasm. At least, not so blatantly.

"Lemme finish. You, as the beneficiary of my trying to a) protect myself and b) trying to keep you out of what had the potential to become a really _nasty_ argument, should let me direct the conversation."

Spock didn't seem at all pleased with the comparison. "But was not I also a participant in the conversation? Are we not equal?"

"What?" Jim sat up straight. "Of _course_ we're equal. I'm trying to keep you from having to deal with the stupider parts of existence. For right now, I know more about it than you do. I've had more than two decades of extra study time. I think it's best for you to stay out of arguments that _I_ start and just watch how they progress."

"I can understand that line of reasoning," Spock said, "but I still feel that the discussion could have progressed better had I had more of an influence on the events."

"And that very well be true," Jim admitted easily. "You could be totally, completely right. But I don't think it's right to expect you to jump in to petty little fights to try and cool things down. I know what I'm getting into when I begin picking at someone like Dam Kore."

"Then why did you do it," Spock pressed. "If you knew that she would become irritated at your actions, why did you proceed?"

"I wanted her to be annoyed," Jim confessed. "I didn't like what she was trying to say about me, and I didn't like the way she was treating you. I wanted her to be just as irritated and angry as I was."

It took Spock a few moments of total silence to absorb this.

"… That… That is… _Totally_. And _completely_ illogical. I do not believe I have ever…"

The Vulcan stared at Jim for a while.

"Damn," he finally said.

Jim gaped. "I didn't know you swore!"

"I do not do so often."

Jim spluttered a bit. "Clearly! Where –,"

"The Doctor was an excellent tutor."

"… He would be, wouldn't he."

"I found so."

Jim blinked for a moment. "Okay. Weird." He grinned up at the contradictory man across from him. "Anything else you'd like to know?"

.bdobd.


	7. Vulcan Lodgings

A/N: My school starts on August 16 ( D: ) and I'm probably going to take that week off. I can promise about five chapters for the month of August. I'm hoping to be able to work in more, but I can't promise much. I'm starting a more difficult math class, and I'm not allowed to get anything but As on my report card, so I'm going to be doing a lot more studying this year.

49 degrees Celsius is over 120 degrees Fahrenheit.

Jack Kilby made the first integrated circuit, the semiconductor.

.bdobd.

None of the other 'organics' – Jim was beginning to seriously love that word; Spock made the best face when he said it – were on Earth the next day. Jim had been forced to drag himself up to Dam Kore's office to, basically, shout his question through the doorway. The freaking woman wouldn't even _answer_ the company comm he'd been issued.

Sharks were circling the lobby. Most of them were dressed for comfort, but in an expensive sort of way. So they were all in suit jackets made of cotton and polyester, and their slacks were pleated denim, and their ties were printed onto their t-shirts.

They all had their own company vans, and they all had expensive cameras. They were all strangely noisy for predators.

Spock thought so, anyway. Apparently the people who'd designed the set of… androids… hadn't put in a 'sense of hearing proportional to that of a Terran sea creature'.

Jim had just praised a few deities that the giant blue creatures had scared off the worst of the _reporters_. He stayed up on floor three – Marta had been right; the place was made awesome by its walls of one-way glass that looked into the lobby – and made faces at the sharks while Spock nosed around the building.

It was almost two in the afternoon when Spock wandered back 'round his way.

Jim waved furiously, as if Spock would have trouble seeing him across thirty feet of empty hallway. "Spock! Come gawk with me!"

Spock chastised Jim with his eyes. It was quite impressive. "James."

"Jim, damnit, we've been through this."

"Indeed, we have, but your full name seems to be a more efficient way of capturing your attention."

The blonde pouted at him and went back to smooshing his nose up against the glass. "Marta was right. Floor three is fucking _awesome_."

Spock was Not Pleased. He must've picked up the look from Dam Kore. "I doubt the validity of any statement made by that elevator."

"Dude, the evidence is _right in front of you_. _Sharks._"

The android folded his long legs underneath him, carefully, and placed himself next to Jim. "They are tourists."

Jim looked up from the frantically gesturing shark at the front desk, who was wearing a tan fedora with a yellow feather. In the brim. Not, say, in a lei kind of thing around its neck, like one of the other ocean critters had done.

Stuck there, right in his hat.

"Huzzwha?"

"The sharks that you referenced previously are tourists."

Jim blinked down at the (mostly) smartly dressed fish. "From _where?_"

"Aqueus II." 

Jim rolled his eyes. "Lemme guess – the Federation named it?"

"Affirmative." Spock moved his face a bit closer to the glass. He didn't fog it up like Jim did, because he didn't have to exhale, and he wasn't very moist as a rule.

"They are the first visitors from their planet to venture outside of the Federation's diplomatic offices. They wished to see the ARA's headquarters for themselves."

Fedora Shark Dude was still going strong. "Well then what's the problem? They're sure as hell not enjoying themselves."

Jim caught the flicker of Spock's smile from the corner of his eye. "They located the wrong ARA."

Blue eyes widened. "Oh. Dear god. The American Rifle Association."

"Indeed."

Spock sounded _rather_ amused.

Jim started to snort with malicious amusement. Spock let him laugh it out, and only started speaking again after Jim'd calmed down.

"I have managed to learn our next assignment."

"Oh?" Jim turned away from the vastly entertaining Shark Dudes. "Do tell."

"We are going to Vulcan."

"Cool!" Jim's entire face brightened. "That's so neat; I've never been. Do you remember anything about it?"

Spock looked happy too. He nodded a 'no'. "I was kept in a rather dim room for the majority of my stay. We are to address the High Council on our experiences at Star Fleet, and I am to meet with the department heads of the Vulcan Science Academy to discuss an insentient Infinite Improbability Drive."

Jim beamed at him. "That's so fantastic. Do you know where we'll be staying?"

"There is an ambassador to Earth who is named Sarek. He is opening his home to us."

"This is _so _neat." Jim propped his folded arms on the one-way glass. "When're we leaving?"

"The shuttle leaves at 0800 hours."

"0600 hours, then." Jim smiled into his elbows. "This's gonna be awesome."

"No, the shuttle leaves at 0800 hours." Spock sounded genuinely confused.

"Well, yeah, but we have to be there an hour early to get through security, and it'll take us a while to get there, so we have to be out of the building by six."

Spock blinked at him blandly. "Security?"

Jim took a moment to visualize what hell would look like. Probably, something like an entire shift full of transport staff realizing that they had to hand-scan ten _metal robots_ for explosives.

"… I'll… explain on the way up. We have to pack."

.bdobd.

Jim'd been given a file to read on the shuttle to Vulcan, so he knew the names of everyone on the alien dock.

Knowing their names helped with exactly _nothing_. In all honesty, it would've been nice to have the ice-breaker there.

Instead, his brain was free to wander about the platform, totally unhindered by anything important, as the designated head negotiator for their side talked to Sarek and T'Pau.

Sarek: Official: relative of T'Pau and senior ambassador to Earth.

Unofficial: _Really fucking tall._ Stern. Scary posture. Wearing a black loose robe thingy that would look religious, except that everyone knew that Vulcans were atheists.

T'Pau: Official: head of the House of Surak and so, the Vulcan equivalent to royalty. Only person to ever have refused a seat on the Federation Council.

Unofficial: Old in a sort of Methuselah kinda way. Do Not Cross. To say that her headdress was black with white braiding would be to miss the opportunity of using the word 'elephantine'.

And then, T'Pring (that sour-looking, otherwise _quite_ attractive woman next to Sarek) was the adopted daughter of… Solkat, who was over there, with the green hemline.

Or, was it Solkat that was adopted into T'Pring's family?

Jim sighed (mentally. Doing it out loud would be a pretty bad idea) and sidled closer to Spock. He didn't get any reaction. The android had his full 'I am Vulcan, Hear Me Roar' face on.

Well, that was understandable. He'd want to make a good impression. Be a bit harder to convince The Population At Large that he was a person, though, if he didn't show emotion.

Now, there was an interesting little issue.

Why did the _Vulcans_, of all people, want to host them?

Sentience was, at the end of the day, the _feeling_ that any creature has that makes it _fundamentally different_ from a very, very convincing AI program, like the ones on toaster ovens and voice-activation units.

The Vulcans did not believe in emotional actions, last time Jim checked. Which was on the shuttle. Ten minutes ago.

Barring something _really_ significant happened to the Vulcan culture in the past ten minutes, they'd agreed to host a group with entirely emotional motivations and aims.

_Fascinating_.

Jim did a detective's chin rub (in his head. Vulcans, you know), and realized just as he was really getting into character that Sarek, T'Pau, T'Pring, and Solkat (and that other dude in the corner; when the fuck did he get there?) were all staring expectantly at him.

So Jim did what he _always_ did in tough situations: he turned to Spock.

Spock did not look pleased with the instinctual movement.

Then again, he didn't look much of anything, right now.

Well, lying wasn't going to make anything better.

"I'm sorry," Jim said, grinning with embarrassment, "I didn't hear what you said. Lost in thought, and all that."

The left eyebrows of four different people rose simultaneously. The blonde had to smother a horrified laugh.

No wonder they were never seen in public in groups.

"Would you mind repeating the question?" he asked.

Sarek took a moment before answering. "… Why are you here? We requested a party of android negotiators."

Jim faced him, instead of the whole group at once, and stuck his thumbs in his pockets. "Truth be told, I don't really agree with Dam Kore's reasoning." He made sure that the 'a' in Dam was nice and soft, like the word included an 'h'.

"A lot of – the grand majority of, actually – people need an emotional connection to any cause before they consider the cause worthy of any attention. 'S why a lot of Terran charity ads focus on the suffering of one particular person, even to the exclusion of hundreds of other people.

"So _I _am here to be your emotional connection." He shrugged self-deprecatingly. "I don't really think I'll be _needed_, but it's standard policy, so, there you go."

T'Pau nodded. "Acceptable."

Yes! Jim for the win!

Sarek looked thoughtful. A little, _teensy tiny_ bit, but it was there. It was Withdrawn Spock, On Steroids, really. "You are the person who gave Spock sentience, correct?"

"Yessir."

"You do not believe that such had any influence on your draft?" 

That was one of the more awkward sentences Jim'd heard in a while. He'd heard that Vulcanir was one of the most complex languages in the Federation; it'd be a pain in the ass to have to translate from Standard to Vulcanir to Standard every time you wanted to answer a question.

He didn't think that kind of sympathy would go very far.

"Well, it probably had some. It's the biggest reason why I, the newest 'organic' member of the organization, was chosen for the group, instead of any of the three others, who've been here longer.

"I don't see what my status has to do with it, though. The trial that the Fleet put Spock and I through –," Jim saw T'Pring's eyebrow start to go, and he amended the sentence, "Spock and _me_, sorry – got into the more detailed parts of the actual, physical things that I did to make him sentient."

Sarek blinked. Either he was confused, or he was sad (suddenly), or he had dust in his eyes. Jim would've bet good money on the last were it not for that third eyelid that Vulcans had tucked away.

"The transcripts of the trial were released yesterday. Nothing of the alterations done to the Sub-Meson Brain's main circuitry were detailed."

"Huh. That's weird." Jim looked over to Spock. "Do you remember anything about them redacting the transcripts?"

"Negative. Nothing to that effect was mentioned in the trial, nor was such a plan reported on any other network that I have seen."

"They may be trying to stop the spread of information so that others do not make sentient beings," the head negotiator dude (Picea? Or was that the other one?) said.

"Yeah, but what I did would only work on the Maru. At least, that's what it looked like."

"What is 'the Maru'?" T'Pau asked.

"Oh. I mean the Sub-Meson." The blonde scratched at the back of his head. "When the Fleet got a hold of the Meson, they had to rename it so that they wouldn't get sued for copyright infringement. They called it the Kobayashi Maru."

"Why do you still refer to the Sub-Meson Brain by an improper title?" T'Pring accused.

"My brain sucks and I'm not good at switching out old information for new stuff."

T'Pring seemed a bit stunned by that. T'Pau was her usual blank self, and Sarek looked… Not _pleased_, but, maybe, satisfied.

"Such issues with data management are a much-studied phenomenon among the majority of species. It is a byproduct of the natural evolutionary process."

Time to be daring. "Are Vulcans just really good at managing their minds, or are your brains set up totally differently than human ones? I could never figure that out."

"It is a combination of the two factors," T'Pau answered, surprisingly enough. "Vulcans are strong touch-telepaths, so our minds are very different than human minds by definition. We also have strong control over our thoughts, and may direct them into a more organized and accessible system than most species live with."

Jim furrowed his eyebrows. "If being a touch-telepath is a fundamental part of the Vulcan psychology," he turned to Spock, "and you self-identify as Vulcan… Can you read minds?"

"I do not know." Spock looked almost shyly over to Sarek. "I had wished to experiment here, actually. I believe I have the mental capacity to do so, but I am unsure as to if I have the proper nervous system."

"There are simple tests that may be done to measure the extent of your telepathic abilities," Sarek said. It almost sounded like he was reassuring Spock. Jim gave him major points for it.

Autonomia – an Italian female model who'd been quiet up til now – broke into the conversation. "I apologize for the interruption, but I am running low on power. Are we to be given lodgings within the next two hours, or shall I begin a standby cycle?"

"We shall show you your quarters now," T'Pau stated. "Come."

They were led deeper into the brownish building, where there was, praise a deity, totally functional climate control. Jim'd been worried that the Vulcans would just keep their buildings to standard outside temperatures, like humans did. That would've put their rooms at a good forty-nine degrees Celsius.

There was a series of corridors that he was free to call 'twisty' in his own mind, and lots of Vulcans in black robes, a staircase, and then a long straight hallway with doorways draped in a heavy rug-like tapestries.

"Picea, Autonomia, Cassandra, and Lystol shall stay here."

Jim and Spock turned to T'Pau with two _very_ different expressions that both managed to say 'WTF?' perfectly clearly.

"What about us?" Jim asked. 

"You are being accepted into Sarek's home for the time being. There is an Andorian delegation that is also being roomed here, and we do not have enough room for all of you."

"James and I may share quarters, if our presence would be a burden upon your household."

"Jim, damnit, we've been through this."

Spock sent him a 'Not now, you fool!' look and turned back to T'Pau. Sarek himself was standing quietly behind her.

"That is the issue we are trying to rectify," T'Pau explained. "None of the delegation from Andoria wished to room together. We had believed that they would want such. We only have three empty rooms. Cassandra and Autonomia have stated that they would not be opposed to sharing quarters."

Jim raised his eyebrows at Lystol and Picea, who both shrugged blandly and were generally unhelpful. The blonde turned to Sarek, kind of embarrassed that they had to impose on the poor man's time even more than they already were.

"Looks like we're with you, sir."

"Indeed." Sarek didn't seem too annoyed; that was a start. "Do you have baggage?"

"James has –,"

Jim made a discontented sound, and Spock kept right on going.

"– one bag, and there is another that contains the dataPADDs for the other androids."

"You brought nothing?"

"I am entirely self-sufficient." The other androids snuck into their rooms, trying generally to Be Sneaky and failing. Lystol broke the pattern and strutted over.

Sarek turned to Jim. "What does your luggage look like?"

Jim had to tear his eyes away from the totally amusing sight of an obviously preening Lystol "It's a gray duffle bag with a red tag on the strap. The other one's bright purple; you won't have any trouble telling them apart."

Picea stuck his head out of his room. "Dam Kore packed the _purple_ bag?"

Spock twisted his torso around in a vaguely unnatural kind of way, a way that reminded a person that he did not, in fact, have a spine. "There were no other options. The party sent to Tellar took the green, and the Asia Major group is still in possession of the gray."

"By Kilby! Still? They've been in Taiwan for three weeks now!"

"Dam Kore stated as such."

"Argh." Picea's torso disappeared through the rug again, muffling his voice. "I hate the purple bag."

"Such preferences are illogical."

Snickering could be heard from Cassandra's shared room. "Quiet you!" Picea called from behind the curtain.

"Oi-yehh! So rude! What has happened to the manners of yesterday?" Lysol mourned the death of chivalry from inside his quarters.

Picea threw something at Lysol's dividing wall, and it hit with a significant _thwup_ noise.

"Aye! Aye! Don't trash the rooms; we just got here!" Cassandra shouted.

T'Pau shuffled closer to Spock. "Do they always behave in such a manner?"

"I do not know. This is my first assignment away from Earth."

"Guys, we're freaking T'Pau out!" Jim yelled. Spock put an aggrieved hand to his ear, causing the blonde to smile sheepishly. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Lysol started it!" Picea argued.

Spock strode purposefully over to the man's room, lifted the rug, and went inside. Autonomia and Cassandra peered around their own tapestry with clear, schadenfreude-filled glee.

Something hard and metallic collided with something else that was hard and metallic, at speed. Picea shrieked, and Spock came strolling out of the room looking rather pleased with himself.

"You _hit_ me!"

Jim burst out laughing. Cassandra and Autonomia were howling, and Lysol sounded like he was going to break his voice speakers soon.

T'Pau looked rather horrified.

Jim beamed at her.

She didn't appear comforted in the least.

.bdobd.

Sarek's house was big, brown, and square. It looked very similar to all of the other square, beige-ish buildings, except that it was a story taller than all of the other houses on the street, and it had windowsills.

It was hot as Hades, and Jim was literally slogging through the thick sand that covered the roads. Spock and Sarek, who were built for this climate, were evil and just sort of mosied along on top of the loose material.

Spock was being rather cute, and had insisted on stealing Jim's bag the minute Sarek had returned from the dock, but still. _Hot._

And Sarek's house had stairs.

Jim whimpered.

Sarek looked at him, apparently amused, and scaled the mile-and-a-half of steep steps (it was _that hot_) in under ten seconds. Spock stayed with Jim and peered at the human with clear concern.

"Are you ill?"

"He is overheated. Such is a common human ailment. My house has air conditioning." Jim's ears perked at that. "He simply must scale the steps."

Jim groaned. Spock looked at Sarek suspiciously. The older Vulcan just raised his eyebrows.

The blonde started laboriously up the stairs. Spock hovered behind him nervously.

What felt like hours later, Jim was panting at the door. Sarek opened the door with a physical key – Jim had expected a number pad – and a fantastic flood of cool air rushed out to greet them.

Spock shuddered. Jim staggered indoors and flopped onto the floor, content to just stay here, indoors, with climate control, for the next decade or so.

Sarek stepped carefully over his splayed legs and began showing Spock around the house. The android looked like he wanted to protest, but Jim waved him on with a lazy arm motion and an, "I'm not getting up any time soon."

He fell asleep in the hall.

.bdobd.

There was a woman sitting across from him.

This, in and of itself, was not terribly surprising. Most Vulcans were betrothed at the age of seven, for rather murky reasons.

But this woman was very clearly, quite lucidly, human.

You know. A humanish human. With brown hair and brown eyes and a _smile_ and everything.

Jim must've turned a really interesting color, because the lady laughed slightly, fingering the tip of his nose gently.

"I've never _seen _anyone freckle before. I'd only seen the results. It's pretty amazing."

She reminded him of Spock, somehow. They had the same eye shape.

"Hello."

He sounded like he'd just been through a car wash, sans car. She grinned again. "Hello."

"… How're you?"

"I'm quite well, actually. Still tired?"

"No, no, thank you. Um." He blinked at her for a moment. "Who are you?"

"Amanda Grayson, at your service." She stuck out her hand to shake, and Jim took it.

"I'm Jim Kirk. What… Am I still in Sarek's house?"

"You are."

She was getting a kick out of this. Jim didn't really mind; she was a bit too nice to be angry at. "So – this might be rude, sorry in advance – what are you doing here?"

"I'm Amanda Grayson."

"Yes, you said that already."

She beamed at him. "Think hard."

He had heard the name before. Grayson. Grayson. With an 'a', he knew that. Meant that he'd seen it written down somewhere before…

Oh.

Jim felt his eyes go wide. "Oh."

"Yep."

"_That_ Amanda Grayson."

She was very _smiley_. Especially for the wife of the Vulcan ambassador to Earth. "That's me."

"_Oh._" Jim blinked a bit. He could see now that she was wearing a more toned-down version of T'Pring's headdress, and that she was in purple, which was the color of Sarek's hemline.

"H-Hi there."

"Greetings."

"… Would you mind if we did that whole introduction thingy over again?"

"Not at all."

Jim straightened his back and pulled his legs into a more composed splay. Mrs. Grayson straightened the folds of her skirt and tugged a bit on her head scarf.

"Hello, Mrs. Grayson, I'm James Kirk. Thank you for letting me into your household." Jim put on his polite-but-enthusiastic smile and bowed a bit from the waist.

"Hello, Mr. Kirk, I'm so glad you could come and speak with us." She flashed the Vulcan salute and beamed. "I'm so happy you decided to roost with me and my husband."

Jim couldn't hold back the shocked snort at that. He went into full Charmer mode. "Please, Mrs. Grayson, call me Jim. Everyone does."

She was totally enjoying this. "In that case, you simply _must_ call me Amanda. Mrs. Grayson… It just sounds so _old_, doesn't it?"

"Not at all, Amanda," Jim purred. "I doubt anything would, on you."

"Is this what humans refer to as 'role-play'?" Sarek asked.

Jim _leaped_ at least a foot in the air and landed with a heavy thump, right on his ass. Amanda snickered and looked up at her husband, who was standing, Not Amused, at the end of the hallway.

"No, dearest, that's more like foreplay. With role-play on top."

Jim shrieked a bit and waited for Sarek to toss him out of the house. _Out of the air conditioning._

Spock stepped out from behind Sarek. Jim's day got worse.

"Mrs. Grayson, I apologize for any offense. James can have a difficult time knowing when to _stop_."

Spock was giving him an all-out glare. Jim mewled slightly, knowing the Vulcan could hear him.

Amanda had a funny expression on her face, like she'd just realized that she'd just accidentally purchased something illegal. "It's quite alright," she said, recovering admirably. "It's not at all his fault. I was playing along."

Jim gave Spock a beseeching look. Sarek took pity on him. "My wife has been known to tease visitors before. Are you well enough to walk now, James?"

"Jim, Jim, it's _Jim_, damnit." Jim scowled lightly at Spock, who must've been the one to mislead Sarek. "I don't like James."

Jim was staggering to his feet as Sarek answered. "Illogical to have preferences."

Amanda rose gracefully. Jim kept on staggering. Walking over all of that sand had done something weird to his ankles. "Yes, but you know that humans have them, regardless. It's also illogical not to alter one's behavior based on easily proven facts."

She tapped his nose with a finger as she walked into the house. Sarek watched her go with obvious bemusement.

Spock looked rather surprised.

Jim finally found his balance and straightened his shirt. "Well? Shall we?"

He followed Mrs. Amanda's example and brushed past Spock with a spring in his step.

.bdobd.


	8. All In the Family

((CHAPTER))

A/N: Finally! This one was a huge pain. I've got five pages (of thirteen) done for the next chapter, but I probably won't be able to finish it until after the 23rd.

STFU means Shut The Fuck Up, for those who don't know that already. (Another good one is UTFG: Use The Fucking Google. Isn't Urban Dictionary grand?)

I saw Sa-tai-i in a different fic; I think it was on the KS Archives. I can't remember exactly where, though.

.bdobd.

After a series of conversations ranging from Really Cool to Awkward to Just Plain Weird, Sarek and Amanda set a table for dinner.

Spock poked his head into the dining area. It wasn't really a 'room' in the traditional sense, more a section of flooring. Vulcans seemed to have something against both dividing walls and furniture with legs; they went for either a solid piece of material, like that plasticity block Sarek used as a desk, or just a giant cushion thing as a chair or couch.

So the dining 'room' was really a rug with three floppish soft things for seating, and a low slab of reddish synthetic for a table.

Spock poked his head into it and peered at the setup with considerable interest. "Are you to eat now? Shall I go charge?"

Amanda bustled out of the kitchen with a bowl of something edible. "You don't _have_ to go. Will it make you uncomfortable if we eat?"

"Negative." The android shuffled shyly onto the knotted fabric. Amanda got that surprised/nauseated/scared/happy look again, smiled painfully, and dashed back into the kitchen-place.

Spock turned to Jim, clearly confused and more than a little worried. "Shall I –,"

"Spock." Jim uncurled himself from around his floppish soft chair thingy and slung a lazy arm around Spock's shoulders. "You're fine. It's her. We'll figure it out soon. It's not your fault."

The Vulcan turned to him with raised brows. "You appear to take great pleasure in that phrase."

Jim leered. Spock did a very subdued kind of eye-roll and sat on Jim's floppish thing.

"Aye! Mine!"

"You were not using it."

"That _totally_ doesn't matter!" Jim parked himself so close to Spock that he was nearly sitting on his thigh, and began shoving at the android with his shoulder. "C'_mooonnnn!_ Ger'_off!_"

Spock sat there regally, not moving. Jim scowled.

"Is there any issue?" Sarek asked, terrifying the innocent human. Jim lept into the air and came down heavily in Spock's lap, causing the very surprised android to grab him under the thighs and kind of _shove_ him onto the floor.

Jim scowled some more, and then pouted a bit for variety. "He stole –!"

"I possess more cushions. Shall I bring another out?"

"That would be of much assist, thank you," Spock answered. The all-but-forgotten blonde heaved himself to his feet and thumped off to the kitchen-place.

Amanda was at a counter, chopping something that was much more purple than it had any reason to be. "Graargh."

"They team up on you?" she asked gaily, not turning around.

Jim shuffled over to her and slumped onto her shoulder. She grinned. "Ye-es?"

"Muaah."

"That bad?"

"Ih."

She made a sympathetic humming noise. "I know."

He exhaled loudly. Amanda turned and handed him the knife. "Here. Cube."

Jim took her former position with some disgraced muttering. "What the fuck _are_ these, anyway?"

"Sa-tai-i. It's not a cucumber," Jim snorted, "even though it looks a lot like one, yeah. It's sort of peppery, actually. A bit of cinnamonish, too. It's a good garnish."

"What're we putting it in?"

"It's usually served cooked with sauce, but that defeats the purpose."

"Purpose?"

"It's good for dealing with jet lag."

It was always difficult to admit that one's own emotions were caused, not by anything you'd done that was particularly exceptional, but because you were so _normal_ that something like jet lag would make you irritable.

Jim grumbled.

"Eat." Amanda poked him in the back with a spoon. "You'll feel better soon."

He speared a piece on the end of the knife and began munching on it. It was, as Amanda'd said, sort of an odd pepper/cinnamon thing. Strangely chewy, too.

"'Ow does cooking it defeat the purpose?" he asked, working his way through slice #3.

Amanda bustled over with a plate of something yellow and started to stretch to get to something on his opposite side. Jim handed her the spatula she was reaching for. "It breaks down the proteins, I think. It gets sort of soft on the outside, and a bit bitter. When the protein gets broken, it releases some sort of chemical that acts as a stimulant in humans. The unbroken chemical's a relaxant, though, and it's used as a stress-reliever."

It was working. He was sort of loath to admit it, though. "When'd you find out about it?"

She paused a bit before answering. "… When I was pregnant for the second time."

Jim blinked and turned to look at her. He could only see her back, but it was tense. "I didn't know you had kids."

"I don't." She started flipping the yellow somethings onto a hot pan, making them sizzle loudly. "I miscarried."

"Twice?" His mother had gotten pregnant one time after he'd been born, but the baby hadn't survived past the third month. She was _still_ getting over that one.

"No." Amanda shifted uncomfortably. "Six times."

"Jesus Christ!"

"Yeah."

Jim twisted a bit to peer into the dining spot, where Sarek and Spock were having a great time inspecting the tableware. "They would've been about Spock's age, right?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

She sighed deeply. "We never reported it outside of the High Council."

Jim winced on her behalf. "Bet you weren't expecting an emotional Vulcan man to show up, right?"

"Just like he would have been. Part human, he couldn't've had the same control – damnit." Her voice had broken in the middle of the word.

Jim went over to her hesitantly, and put a very careful arm around her. "… I feel like I should be saying something that will make this easier," he admitted, "but I can't really think of one."

Amanda laughed, and then sniffled a bit. "I'll be fine."

He didn't say anything.

"No, really," she insisted, "it'll be okay."

.bdobd.

Jim spent the entire dinner trying not to think about the six un-children. He finally snapped later, while Spock charged in their room.

"Hey, Spock?" The android opened an eye and peered at him.

"Yes?"

"Did Sarek say anything… about some kids, or that he had any, or something like that?"

The second eye opened. Spock looked at him curiously. "Negative. We spoke primarily of my telepathic abilities. Why do you ask?"

Jim rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "Amanda said something about her and Sarek wanting to have children. I was wondering if he'd mentioned it to you."

"… No, nothing of that sort was spoken of." Spock said slowly. "I do not know how it would be brought into the conversation, either. As I am without family, I am not sure –,"

"Did Dam Kore not find any siblings?"

Spock leaned backwards slightly, shifting the thin black cord that ran from his clavicles to the wall socket. "She has not located any yet. She did insist that she had not yet checked all venues, however. I do not hold much hope."

Jim sat up to look at Spock. "Why not? Bambleweeny 57, that's fifty-six chances."

"Yes, but Dam Kore stated that requests for Vulcan male forms were very rare."

"Well, _rare_ isn't _never_. _Someone_ else wanted that shell, or else they wouldn't've made it!"

"I am not so sure." The android was gazing off into middle distance. "Sarek did say that he remembered the making of my shell. He said that it was a very controversial move. The Vulcan High Council decided to be most accurate was to copy exactly the form of a recently deceased citizen."

Spock narrowed his eyes slightly. "But there was something the matter with the person who was selected. It was a random selection, and there was a genetic flaw with the person. Sarek stated something to the effect that he was glad that I did not show any evidence of a flaw's negative impact."

Jim's eyes had widened entirely of their own volition. "And you just let that lie? You didn't ask anything else?"

Spock shrugged. He'd gotten so much less emotive, though, that really it was more of a shift of one shoulder. On anyone else, it'd just be a random twitch. "I did not think it necessary."

The blonde spluttered lightly. "But –! We could figure out what your real name was and stuff! Why not –,"

He broke off at Spock's utterly destroyed expression. "Is Spock not my real name?" he asked quietly. "This form never belonged to any other being. It is simply a shell. If I am –,"

Jim bounded off the bed and latched onto the android. "No, no, I didn't mean that, I'm so sorry," he murmured. "You're you, no one else. I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."

Spock had gone totally limp, and didn't say anything. "Spock, _please_, I need you to say something, okay? I don't know how to make this better. Tell me _something_."

"Am I not real enough?" the man asked softly.

Jim squeezed. "You're more than enough," he assured, "I'm just an idiot. I got confused; I though that the shell'd once been someone else's; I just forgot that it was a machine for a moment. I'm sorry. I was an _idiot._"

Spock made a slight choking noise. He pushed the human off of his chest and moved his charge cord out of the way. "You were crushing it."

"I'm so sorry."

"Yes, you have stated that four times now." The Vulcan seemed to be getting some of his composure back.

Jim winced. "I'm sorry," he said automatically. "What do you want me to say?"

Spock looked at him. Really, genuinely stared. Jim felt like he was inspecting him, putting little red circles around the bits he didn't like.

"Why are you here?"

It wasn't the question he'd been expecting. "Where here?"

"Why are you with me?" Spock shifted so that he was sitting straight, which made him about an inch taller than Jim. It was an important inch. "Why are you here, on Vulcan, sharing a room with me? You have absolutely no reason to do so. While I greatly appreciate your dedication to my civil rights, there is no logical reason for you to be so invested in my future.

"What do you want from me?"

Jim had the sense to really _think_ about his answer. "… I just need to make sure that I didn't destroy someone else's life," he said finally.

Spock went still. He nodded. "Acceptable." The man reached over and drew Jim into a quick hug. Then he relaxed backwards to charge, looking totally at ease.

.bdobd.

Jim dearly wanted to ask about the 'flaw' that Sarek had mentioned, but had no intention of a repeat of last night. He stayed quiet.

The four of them spent the next afternoon buried in a silence thick enough to drown whales. They were all sitting in the living room on the floppy things when Amanda literally threw up her hands in frustration.

"Right!" she announced. "You," she pointed at Jim, "spill it."

Jim threw a panicked look over to Spock, who looked at him in total incomprehension. "Um."

"_Now_. I'm tired of being stuck here, not knowing what's bothering the two of you."

"What is she requesting?" Spock asked Jim.

"She wants to know what's wrong," he hissed back. Spock looked completely surprised.

"Is something the matter, Jim?"

The blonde did a slow face-palm. He felt Amanda raise her eyebrows Spockishly. "Jim," she warned.

Jim took a deep breath and said the following on one lungful of air, very quickly:

"Well I asked if Sarek he'd said anything about you two having – trying to have – kids, and Spock said no but said that Sarek had said something about his shell and a flaw and we had a misunderstanding and we're fine, right?" Jim addressed this last bit to Spock, who was staring at him like _he_ was the weird one here.

Sarek blinked slowly. "Spock said that I had stated something pertaining to my _own_ shell?"

"What?" Jim peered at him.

Amanda was staring determinedly into middle distance. "No," she started slowly, "that 'his' referred to _Spock_…"

"Ah, you are referring to my conversation with _Spock_ about _his_ shell," Sarek nodded sagely.

"Yes." Jim looked to Spock. "Wasn't that obvious?"

"Negative."

"Damn." At least everyone's confusion had blunted any anger that might've erupted from such a breach of confidence.

Amanda was mouthing something quietly to herself. Jim had a feeling it was his own poorly constructed explanation. "So, you told _Spock_ about our _private_ conversation," she stressed 'private' and Jim got terribly nervous, "and in return, he told _you_ about Sarek's and his private conversation, and then you got into a fight, do-I-understand-this-correctly?"

Jim shrunk into his chair-cushion. "Um…"

"You cannot expect us to not converse when we are being housed and roomed together," Spock said indignantly. Jim made frantic STFU movements.

"I do not believe they should be punished for pooling information," Sarek said in a very saint-like manner.

Amanda looked like she could happily eat Jim's eyes. "That was a _private_ conversation," she insisted. "If I wanted everyone to know I would've _told_ everyone."

"Told me, you mean," Spock said softly. "I was the only person who did not know last night. You only wanted to keep me ignorant."

Amanda melted. "Oh, Spock, I didn't mean to –,"

"I must concur," Sarek agreed, in a pretty dickish move. His wife scowled at him.

"Well _you _know why I didn't want him to know," she pointed out.

"We don't," Jim said helpfully. She glared at him too, for some reason.

"Quiet, you." She turned back to her husband. "I just don't think it's a good idea to tell him about –,"

"Are you afraid," Spock began regally, "that I would confuse myself with one of your children. I am my _own_ person."

Yes! AssertiveSpock for the win!

"Well, you are of our children," Sarek said.

Jim's jaw dropped. Spock's eyes bugged slightly. Amanda hit her husband with as much force as she could muster.

"Your personality was chosen at random from all those in Vulcan record, and your shell's genetic coding was the same. Both happened to be the data collected from one of our children," Sarek added.

Spock shook himself slightly. "My _personality_ is of one of your children?"

Sarek was scootching himself out of his wife's range. "Indeed, all fetuses of the final trimester have their mental landscape recorded for later study. Our sixth attempt at children was the most successful, but had to be aborted at a very late stage because of complications. When the Meson Corporation decided to incorporate an emotion chip into its newest device, it requested a personality from the High Council. As I am on the High Council, I was informed of the name of the personality. It happened to be one of my children."

Amanda had crossed her arms and legs defensively. "We tried to get them to change their minds," she said, "but they said that such a request was 'illogical' and they sent the data anyway."

"What about a body?" Jim asked. "If none of the fetuses were ever fully developed, how'd they design a full-grown male shell? That doesn't make any sense."

"Meson has artificial growth chambers." Spock sounded slightly strangled. "They must have accelerated the development past the unstable period and simply copied the physical attributes the body showed."

"That doesn't make any sense either." Jim rolled a bit to peer at the vaguely ill android. "How can you just _speed up_ the embryonic development stage?"

"You can increase the concentration of the hormone levels to levels far beyond what is considered ethical for an artificially inseminated person," Sarek said. "Increased hormone concentration has been proven to lead to issues with nervous system development later in life. But if one is only growing a _body_, not a _mind_, there is no reason to limit such levels."

"Eew." Jim wrinkled his nose. "That's a bit sick. So they just made a crappy mind on purpose?"

"They do not allow the development of a brain capable of higher level functions." Spock sounded kind of nauseous. "I have read studies. Meson holds a patent for a mutated hormone that inhibits brain development. It is widely used in various shell development centers."

"I'm kind of surprised they're able to get away with that," Jim mused, "because there are some religious groups that say any multi-cellular creature is deserving of the same ethical laws that govern sentient beings."

"Indeed, but such groups are not seen as having any basis in rationality on Vulcan. They make clear exceptions for bodies that are used for organ harvest. The bodies that are used for shell design are then harvested afterwards."

"Okay, I can see your point," Jim nodded. He looked behind him to Spock. "Why do you look so sick? You don't even _have_ organs."

"What _am_ I?" Spock asked in a clearly horrified tone. "I thought I was my own _being_, but here I am told that I am simply a _copy_ of some other creature. Am I not –?"

Jim stood and made himself a spot on Spock's chair-thing. "You are a person, a person with opinions and rights, just like everyone else. And," he added, "you've just learned that you come from a man named Sarek and a woman named Amanda, who live in Shi'Kahr in a brown house. That is who you are."

He rubbed the rather hysterical Vulcan's back. "All that's changed is that you now get to deal with having parents."

Spock made a slight panicked noise. Amanda smiled wanly at him. "Hey, it could be worse. We're not totally insane."

Sarek looked at her oddly. "'Totally insane'? Such implies that we are partially insane."

"Well, who isn't?"

Sarek blinked and drew himself up grandly. It was a lot like what Spock did, come to think of it. Very determinedly regal. "I am not insane."

"Just a _little_ bit, dear," Amanda insisted gently. "Just like everyone else."

Spock looked to Jim helplessly. The human grinned. "You should see mine. Mom's _totally_ insane. _Completely_. She's obsessed with rooster statues."

Spock blinked at him. He looked to Amanda and Sarek, who were still arguing lightly, and then to Jim, and then down at his hands. Then he buried his head in Jim's shoulder, and groaned.

.bdobd.

The next hour and a half was just comforting Spock, who was going through a bit of an identity crisis. Sarek, Amanda, and Jim finally agreed to view Spock as a baby that'd been switched at birth: related to them, but not anyone they could discipline as their own child.

After that fiasco was taken care of, Spock and Jim got to tramp back to the embassy (_in the heat!_) to explain to Picea, Lysol, Autonomia, and Cassandra what they'd just discovered. The four other androids very loudly Did Not Buy It, and it took them a solid forty-five minutes to agree that such a thing was even _possible_.

And by _that_ time, everyone had to scuttle off to all of their various posts. Spock got to go mess around with the Science Academy, which Cassandra and Picea bitched loudly about. Autonomia managed to shut them up by reminding them that Spock would have to make a solo presentation to the Academy in the afternoon.

Vengeful hand-wringing commenced.

Lystol and Cassandra were packed off to the Vulcan equivalent of a prep school to host an assembly about… something. Picea went into negotiations with the High Council for… something else.

Jim was left standing awkwardly in the embassy's lobby. He turned to T'Pau. "Do you have anything for me to do? I was just told to do what you told me to."

Well, not exactly. He hadn't been told _anything._ Everyone else had gotten their orders by android-email. He'd been left out of a very important loop.

T'Pau looked about as surprised as T'Pau _could_ look. "You have received no instruction?"

Jim shrugged. "'Parenly not. I've checked all of my company comm devices, and no one has left any messages."

The matriarch stared contemplatively into middle distance. "Come," she finally ordered, "I will take you to my niece. She will be able to answer any questions you may have."

"Alright."

He gamely followed the older woman down a series of hallways. He had to repress a groan when he saw the door to the streets outside.

To his great surprise, they turned a well-hidden corner and went down a flight of stairs. The stairs ended on a darkened platform with a tiled floor that was bordered by two deep trenches. There was a white metal – it _looked_ like a pipe, at least – that ran the length of the ceiling.

T'Pau walked over to a panel on a wall and pushed a blue button. A large, smooth, metal something rose from the right-hand trench.

It looked rather like a running shoe. There was a U-shaped hook on the top, and a door set into the side. A mechanical arm attached the shoe/subway car onto the pipe on the ceiling.

T'Pau walked over to the shoe and gestured for Jim to get in. He stared at the door.

There was no handle, on the door.

He looked back to T'Pau.

She looked back at him.

They did this for a while before she realized that he was completely confused. She pushed the inside of a rectangular outline in the center of the door, which receded with a pneumatic hiss.

The door opened.

"Oh."

"You have clearly never used a private line before."

"What's a private line?"

She seemed to hesitate. "I will tell you during the trip." She tapped at a red splotch on the door, and two steps unfurled themselves from the threshold. T'Pau ascended the steps and perched on the far side of the cushioned bench that took up one wall of the pod.

Jim clambered in with a bit less grace – those steps were weirdly unsteady – and sat on the blue upholstery. "L-langon Mountains, stop 16," T'Pau announced to absolutely no one.

The wall they were facing cleared to show the dark tunnel in front of them. The door closed with another hiss.

The pod took off much too fast.

Jim managed to peek himself off of the bench's back after thirty seconds of minor panic. He looked to T'Pau with an affronted expression.

The woman stared back blandly.

Jim gave up. "Where are the Langin Mountains?"

"They are the L-langon Mountains," T'Pau corrected, "and they the range bordering the far desert of Shi'Kahr. My niece, T'Pol, lives in their foothills."

They exited the tunnels in a jarring flash of sunlight. Jim had to blink rapidly to clear the spots from his eyes.

The pod was whizzing above the streets of Shi'Kahr, heading towards the freakiest fucking collection of mountains Jim had ever seen. They were black and pointed and jagged and there was_ fog_, honest-to-god ominous fog rings curled languidly around the spiked peaks.

He heard himself squeak slightly. T'Pau looked at him with absolutely no expression, but with a tone that hinted at a vague surprise. "You will not be harmed," she reassured him. "T'Pol has become a very stable individual."

"T-That's good to – Wait, _has become _stable!"

"There was a period where she made use of Trellium-D," T'Pau explained primly. Jim got the impression that she didn't want to be talking about it. "She has since recovered."

He was not at all comforted. "Isn't one of the side effects of Trel-D poisoning _explosivity?_ And _inability to control emotions_?"

"Affirmative."

The pod drew closer to the Mountains of Doom.

.bdobd.


	9. All the Time In the World

A/N: Ha! Ha ha ha ha! I did it! I updated! This was actually finished on, like, Monday, but my internet cut out and I couldn't post. o0o

I did a day-count of the story. This entire thing has taken place in only five days. Starting on the Wednesday that Jim rewired the Maru, it's now Sunday of that _same week_. Yikes.

Taciturn is a great word for a person who doesn't talk much.

You may want to look up P'Jem on MemoryAlpha. It's not essential to the chapter, but it'll explain a few things about T'Pol's predicament.

.bdobd.

T'Pol met them at the station, and Jim kind of loved her for it.

"T'Pau!" she beamed. _Beamed!_ "How has my favorite Head of Family been?"

T'Pau had gone from 'Apprehensive But Hopeful' to 'Completely Exasperated' in exactly three seconds. It was pretty amazing. "Greetings, T'Pol. I have been well. Such preferences are illogical."

T'Pol grinned toothily. Her teeth were way sharper than they had any excuse to be. "So true, so true." She turned to stare down at Jim, because she was about six feet tall and Jim was five ten, to his eternal sadness. "You have brought a guest!"

"Indeed," T'Pau nodded sagely. "He is part of the ARA. They arrived yesterday."

It was strange, seeing the two of them together. T'Pau, on her own, was a very respectable figure. Combined with T'Pol, she was a rather antiquated old woman. Jim got the feeling T'Pol was doing it on purpose.

T'Pol looked totally befuddled. "Why did the High Council allow the _American Rifle Association_ to dock _here?_"

"No, no, we're the Androids' Rights Association," Jim explained. "It's an unfortunate coincidence."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "Unfortunate?"

Jim grinned. "Well, unfortunately hilarious. We had a bunch of sharks come in two days ago. They were _totally_ confused."

"_Sharks?_"

"Yep," he nodded. "New member planet. Aqueus II. Walking, talking sharks."

"Aqueus II?" T'Pol snorted. "I am going to assume that the_ humans _named that one."

"From what I can tell, yeah."

She smiled at him. "Do you wish to stay?" she asked T'Pau. "I can take care of him."

"Yes, you certainly have the proper experience," T'Pau sniffed. T'Pol's smile went from 'pleasant' to 'fangs' very, very quickly.

"I shall leave," T'Pau announced. "I must return to the High Council." Jim got a rush of sympathy for Picea.

"Thank you for bringing me here, T'Pau," Jim said dutifully. The matriarch nodded in acknowledgement, ascended the steps into the pod, and took off.

T'Pol watched the shoe leave the tiled runway with glee. "Oh, the lizard has _gone_," she breathed. Jim failed to repress his snort.

T'Pol crossed her arms in a very human way and turned to him. "Here, let me get a look at you." He pivoted obediently.

"Are you an android? I am not very good at such identifications."

Jim shook his head. "Nah. I'm one of the four organic members of the company. I get toted along for emotional connections."

"I am just going to assume that you did not tell T'Pau of this," T'Pol said sarcastically.

"You betcha."

She barked out a laugh. "Come on, we must be leaving. This station is not insulated, and will heat quickly." Jim nodded and trailed behind her as she exited the station.

The mountains weren't any better up close. The rocks were dark and hard, and the fog covered most of the orange sky. It did make everything cool, though. Nice and moist.

Then again, 'moist' wasn't a _good_ thing to Vulcans. They liked it dry and hot. "Um, T'Pol?"

She didn't turn around, but her ear flicked slightly to show that she was listening. "Yes?"

Jim peered at the ground carefully. There was actually a trail that'd been worn. It was very subtle, though, like T'Pol didn't get visitors often. "Why… Why do you live over here? Is it because of T'Pau?"

T'Pol shook her head with amusement. "And it is said that humans are subtle in meaning." She looked behind her and waited for the dallying human to catch up to her. "I am not welcomed in Shi'Kahr," she said as Jim drew closer.

"Why not?"

The trail began to develop an incline. "I was the first Vulcan member of Starfleet."

"And _that's_ enough to get you to move out _here?_"

"No. During my service, I worked for the Federation, not for Vulcan. I uncovered a series of things that the High Council wished to be kept secret." Jim could see a house set into the rock in the distance. "The Council was not pleased, and frequently reported such."

Jim looked at her carefully. "So you just _gave up?_"

"No." This was very definite. "I did not. When I left Starfleet, I moved into my family's townhouse. I was not wished there, but I did so anyway. When the family was told of my relationships with my captain and first officer, they turned be out to the mountains."

"Oh." She was… Right. "You're _that_ T'Pol."

"Yes."

"Holy shit."

She smiled slightly. "Yes."

Jim was hit with a flack of outrage. "But they can't _do _that! You – you – You were the one to withstand Silik after Paraagan II! And you caught Menos! _And _you were one of the people to destroy the Xindi superweapon! You were there for the chartering of the Federation of Planets! They can't just _do_ that!"

"They did," T'Pol said simply.

Jim spluttered with indignation. "But that's not _right!_"

"While you were in – I assume you were once in Starfleet, to know these things."

Jim winced. "Until about a week ago, yeah."

"So I assume that you also heard of P'Jem?"

"Ah – _oh_. _O-_oh."

"Yes."

"Right."

"Indeed."

Jim coughed nervously and fumbled around for another topic. T'Pol's house loomed. "Was this here when you got here?"

"I had it constructed." T'Pol stood staring up at the gigantic structure.

The front of the building was flush with the face of the mountain, and it had to be at least four stories high. Most of it was made of a dark grey metal that looked an awful lot like –

"Is that starship hull?"

"Yes," T'Pol nodded. "Of the _Enterprise._"

Jim stared at her blankly for a few seconds before remembering that _his_ version of the _Enterprise_ was based on the older model. "They're building another one," he said. "It's gorgeous."

She smiled slightly. "I do not believe they would be the same."

"No." Jim peered up at the huge metallic panels. "I don't think they are."

.bdobd.

T'Pol's house was shaped like a wedge of cheese, with the widest part facing the outside. It ended in a sharp point a good sixty feet into the mountain, and Jim had a great time trying to scale the corner with his hands and feet.

T'Pol looked up at him and grinned. "I do not believe you will be successful," she called.

"And?"

He could hear her roll her eyes. She went into her kitchen-area. "Do you drink tea?" she yelled.

"Yes!"

"Excellent."

Jim was pushing outward with his arms, trying to keep himself steady as he quickly shifted his foot higher on the wall. "Ha!"

"I warn you, when you fall, it shall be painful."

"Oh, I've had worse." Tarsus hadn't been kind, and it had had quite a few sheer cliff faces. This was nothing.

"I do not doubt such," T'Pol's voice lowered as she came back into the room, "but if you injure yourself I will have to tend to you."

Jim laughed. "Selfish."

"I never stated otherwise."

He snorted and dropped. He underestimated the fall by about a foot and stumbled heavily. T'Pol was there in a flash. "Are you hurt?"

He rolled his ankle gently. "… Nope! I'm good." He bounced happily on the balls of his feet. "Food?" he asked hopefully.

T'Pol barked slightly and led him to her kitchen-place. She'd showed him the layout, but the house was such a weird shape that he kept on getting lost anyway. She ruffled around in her refrigerator. "Apple?" she offered.

"Sounds good to me."

She tossed it to him and moved to the dining room, which was separated from everything else by two dividing walls. She, unlike Sarek, had no vendetta against legs on furniture, so everything was much more recognizable. "What was your Academy major?" she asked as she claimed a chair.

Jim sat across from her and took a bite. "Command," he answered around a mouthful of fruit. "And Tactical. Engineering as a fallback."

She raised an eyebrow. "I would have expected Helm or Navigation."

"Nah. I like engines."

"Why did you leave?"

"Wasn't my choice, exactly." He tossed the fruit fitfully from hand to hand. "I made Spock – have you heard about Spock?"

T'Pol nodded no. "Negative. Is he organic?"

"No, I accidently created him from the Maru – no, sorry, the Sub-Meson. I rewired a few things and he became sentient are you alright?"

T'Pol had frozen with her mug to her lips. Her eyes were huge. She set the cup down very carefully. "You… You had access to the Kobayashi Maru?"

Jim stopped throwing the apple. "Well, yeah. All cadets do. It's the final test. We have to alter it to make it capable of generating infinite improbability fields. I figured that the Maru didn't know what 'infinite' meant without emotion, so I charged up its emotive chip and wham! Sentient." He squinted at his host. "Are you sure you're all right?"

The woman was gawping quietly at him. "You… _charged _his _emotive chip?_"

Oh shit. He knew that tone. Jim leaned back in his chair, preparing to duck something hard. "… Yes?"

"You – You –!" The Vulcan looked ready to explode. "You bloody _idiot!_" She shot out of her chair and began pacing. "Why the _hell _did you go and – Oh!" T'Pol turned to glare at him. "You are a _fool!_"

"I _know_ that!" Jim said indignantly. "You don't need to _remind _me. I got kicked out of the Fleet for it!"

"What were you _thinking?_" She went back to pacing. "The Sub-Meson is a very delicate piece of equipment and you just _decided_ to _rewire _it? Have you any idea what –?"

"The Sub-Meson _was_," Jim quietly corrected.

T'Pol whirled. "Ex_cuse_ me? Did those _infantile_ Sciences directors order it destroyed _again?_ The last time Archer had to call me in to stop them; he would _not _have let them –,"

"His name is Spock," Jim insisted. "He's not the Maru, and he's not the Sub-Meson. He's Spock."

T'Pol gave him a disdainful look. "_He_ is of mine. I was one of the head programmers for the Sub-Meson. I know how sentient he is, and that is not much. His Prime Directive is simply to obey _you_. It is no wonder that the ARA allowed you in its system; you are the only person who may control 'Spock'."

Jim set the apple down gently. "That's not true." He settled his hands in his lap. "I asked him to change his Prime Directive. It's just to make himself happy now."

"Oh?" T'Pol raised a very Spockish eyebrow. She _was_ related to him. T'Pau was the head of Sarek's family; the two must be connected somehow. "And how do you know this? Has it occurred to you that he may have simply _told_ you that such was the case, so as to please you?"

"He wouldn't do that!"

"Yes he would."

"How the fuck would you know, you've never met him!"

"I _made_ him," T'Pol hissed. "You do not seem to comprehend this. I know_ exactly_ what he is capable of because _I_ was the one to design his limits. I doubt highly that he altered himself in any way that would impact his most basic programming."

"That's not _true,_" Jim persisted. "He's his own _person._"

"He is a being that is governed by a computer chip!" T'Pol resumed pacing. Jim could see some of her irritation coming out in her floor: her footsteps were leaving slight impressions in the fake wood. It hit him, suddenly, that he was talking to someone who was clinically insane.

"He is not _Vulcan_ any more than the table is a forest! His emotions and reactions have been processed and manipulated to create a perfect _machine_. He cannot –,"

"Well, thankfully, Meson isn't very good at their jobs, are they," Jim said coolly.

T'Pol hissed, actually, literally hissed, and swished towards him. Jim scuttled backwards, knocking his mug over. He'd noticed the woman's teeth before, but they were different when they were bared. What had been an interesting quirk now became something very, very disturbing.

"He is of _ours_," she maintained raspily. Jim raised his hands in surrender. He found himself nodding in agreement, just to get her to back off.

"I don't believe that, but I'm sure we can talk that one out," he breathed. "Could we sit down again?"

"What?"

T'Pol straightened and said something in Vulcan to a man standing on the other side of the dividing wall. He was the one who'd spoken.

Spock and a man Jim'd never seen before rounded the corner, looking befuddled. Well, Spock did, anyway. The man was going Full Vulcan and didn't look much of anything. Jim tried to motion for them to get back.

"I do not understand," Spock continued. "I was attempting to locate a Mister James Kirk. My cousin Selek," he indicated the flat-faced man, "told me that he was in this house. I just heard his voice. May I speak with him?"

T'Pol sounded like she'd just been through a thresher. "We were conversing. We are almost finished."

Selek shifted slightly. Jim noticed that he kept Spock in between himself and the unhinged woman. "I believe it would be best if James Kirk were to accompany us outside."

T'Pol said something uncomplimentary in Vulcan. Spock looked to Selek – apparently he hadn't been taught whatever she'd just said. Selek shook his head.

Jim began to creep around the table, trying to put at least two meters in between T'Pol and him.

.bdobd.

Whatever happened after that, it went very quickly. Jim woke up in a shoe-pod sandwiched between the window and Spock's left side.

"Wha' happen'?" he asked blearily.

"T'Pol and Selek and I became involved in an altercation," Spock said tersely. His face had turned to stone at some point, and he'd grown a steel spine. Jim peered around the android and saw empty bench.

"'S Selek still there?"

"Negative."

Spock wasn't looking at him. He was staring out the window instead. Jim twisted a bit to see what was so interesting.

They were zooming over the central parts of Shi'Kahr. It was very pretty, but not enough to completely capture Spock's attention. Jim tapped him sharply on the shoulder with his nose. "Oi. What _happened?_"

Spock wrapped an arm around his waist and squeezed. Which was very nice and all, but the stubborn man still wasn't looking at him. And he hadn't said anything. Jim tapped him again, this time a bit softer. "_Hey_. I can't help if I don't know what's going on. What happened to T'Pol? Is she alright?"

"No."

Jim blinked. "Um." He stared at the buildings below them. "Right then. So, what –,"

"She will recover."

Jim frowned at the rather unenlightening comment. "From _what?_ I'm totally in the dark here. What happened? It couldn't be _that _bad."

Spock looked at him from the corner of his eyes, once, before going back to staring out the window.

"… Really?"

Spock nodded.

"Is Selek _dead_? Did – Holy fuck, she didn't hurt _you_, did she?"

"Negative."

Jim was getting frusterated. "Well the what the hell is wrong, then? If _she'll_ be okay and _you're_ fine and _Selek's_ fine –,"

"What day is it?"

"What?" That hadn't been what he was expecting. "What _day _is it?" He thought back a while. "Well, I accidently made you on Wednesday… And…" Thursday, Friday, Saturday, "it's Sunday now, right? Late? 'Cause you're only about five days sentient." He'd been planning on having a birthday party of sorts when they got back to Earth.

Spock shook his head. "It is Saturday."

"What?" That couldn't be right. "That's not possible. Remember, we went to bed on Saturday, and today's _Sunday_ and we had the conversation with your parents about how they were your parents."

"Indeed, that did occur," Spock admitted, "and everything before and after, as well."

"But you're saying it's Saturday."

"Yes."

Jim squirmed to look the taciturn android in the eyes. Well, the cheek, really. "So what happened to Sunday?"

Spock took a deep breath. "Nothing yet."

Jim blinked at him. "… Right. Spill. And I know you know what that means."

"… We are traveling to Shi'Kahr, from T'Pol's dwelling, to meet with Selek."

"Yes, I'd assumed that. He's not here."

"Not exactly." Spock looked sheepish, which was very odd. "I saw T'Pol attack you, and I panicked."

Spock stopped here, and Jim hit him on the back of the head, which hurt. Metal head, and all that. "_And?_"

"I seem to have…" Spock sighed. "_Apparently_… Did you know that the forward flow of time is an illusion?"

"_What?_" Jim spluttered. "Is this really the time for this?"

"It is the perfect time," Spock muttered. He finally looked at Jim. "As Newtonian laws work just as well _backwards_ as _forwards_, past and present are simply relative terms that have no basis in the physical world."

He stopped again, waiting for Jim to understand something totally incomprehensible. "What the hell does this have to do with _anything?_ I'm asking about what _happened!_"

"Yes, I realize this," Spock said desperately, "and I am attempting to explain! When I saw T'Pol attack you… No, such is not correct. T'Pol _did_ attack you."

"No she didn't," Jim said, confused. "I'm fine."

"Yes, you are _in this time_. T'Pol attacked you," Spock continued stubbornly, "and you were very badly injured. I panicked – _I know I have already stated such_ – and accidently created an extremely strong improbability field. It is now Saturday. I… It _seems_ that a very strong infinite improbability field has the ability to bend time."

Jim gaped at him. "You… You _panicked_ and _rewound the universe?_"

"I _believe _so," Spock said desperately. "I do not _know_. But you were bleeding and Selek yelled and T'Pol looked surprised so I did not _know _what to do, and usually I ask you but you fell and were not moving and so I did what I first thought of and now we are here, and my chronometer tells me it is yesterday! And such is _clearly _not _probable_, but if all is _possible_ surely time travel is possible as well –,"

Spock was panicking again, so Jim slapped him.

Spock blinked at the human. The human glared back at him. "You _rewound time?_"

Spock looked at him helplessly. "I did not _attempt _to! I created an infinite improbability field and something _happened!_ I cannot _control_ the results!"

"But – You can shape them! You gave yourself speakers and redid your Prime Directive. You were clearly _trying_ to get to _something!_" Jim was now almost as hysterical as Spock was.

"I did not know what to do!"

"_Why?_ You're _you!_ Couldn't you have thought for a _second_ about –?"

"You were _dead!_" Spock sobbed. "I did not know what to do! Life cannot be returned to any dead thing! All I wished was for it to never have happened!"

Jim was torn between wanting to hug Spock and wanting to push him out of the shoe. "You – You!_ Argh!_" He threw up his hands. Not very high, as he was still being crushed against the side of the pod, but the sentiment was there. "You are _incorrigible!_"

"… Is that a good thing?" Spock asked quietly.

"_No_," Jim hissed. "And now we're stuck a day ago. How do we know that other stuff hasn't changed? For all we know we're now on a planet populated by _ducks!_ How are we supposed to make sure nothing goes wrong?"

"Nothing _can_ go wrong. Nothing needs to be preserved." This sounded almost absurdly optimistic.

"But what if screwing around makes it so we're stuck in Saturday forever? I want to _live_, I don't want to be in the same place in the same day for the rest of my life!"

"If we do not intervene in _some_ way, you will die," Spock stated. "And I will not allow this."

"Well-how-are-we-going-to_-stop-it?_" Jim forced through clenched teeth.

Spock thought deeply.

Jim pressed his nose to the window and stared at the fog that he made. Spock didn't do that. He didn't need to breathe. Jim thought back to what T'Pol had said… Or, would say. Did Spock hit some sort of universal Refresh button because he wanted to, or because his programming told him to protect his creator? Or were his wants and his programming the same thing?

Spock's confident tone pulled Jim out of his musings. "I shall take the place of Selek and accompany this time's Spock to T'Pol's dwelling. There I will know of her movements and be able to stop her before she may reach this time's Jim."

"And what should I do?" Jim asked dully. "Stay behind and doodle for thirty hours?"

"No. I believe that Picea would have appreciated your assistance with the High Council. I met with him briefly before going to find you, and he alluded to difficulties he was having in negotiations."

The pod was approaching the embassy's docking station. Jim's eyes widened. "Spock, why was this pod in service? We shouldn't be moving. Are we the only copies from our time to this time? Is this the same pod you used to get here?"

"No," Spock reassured, "we are the only duplicates that I have seen. The pods stop periodically while returning to their origin stations. This one appears to be on route to the lower quarters of Shi'Kahr. The embassy and the L-langin mountain stations are on this pod's regularly programmed stops."

They were pulling into the station tunnel. "What time is it?" Jim asked.

"1500 hours. Why do you ask?"

"What time did our shuttle _land_ yesterday?"

Spock's eyes widened. "1430 hours. We are being led to my parent's house now. But the rest of the group –,"

"We won't know where they are until after noon tomorrow," Jim whispered. They were less than ten feet from the tile now. "We could run into them at any time. What are we gonna say?"

There wasn't anyone in the station, thank god. The shoe pod slid softly to a stop. Spock pressed for the door to open. Jim slumped onto the bench as the android shifted; he'd been held about an inch above the cushions by Spock's anxious squishing.

"The station is vacant," Spock said quietly.

"Do you know if there are any cameras here?" Jim asked, scootching towards the door. Spock shook his head.

"I do not believe there are. There is little crime on Vulcan."

"If we had a story we wouldn't have to worry," Jim groused.

Spock stepped out of the pod, Jim directly behind him. "I eagerly await your suggestions," the android said sarcastically. Jim slapped him on the arm.

"Not now! This is serious." The pod drew out of the tunnel to complete its rounds. "What are we going to say when T'Pau sees us and asks why we're not at Sarek's? I don't want to blame them; that'll be really awkward when," not if, "we get back to our own time."

"I agree."

Jim waited for him to elaborate. He didn't. Jim sighed and went to peer over the side of a handy trench. Spock followed him without incident, but wrapped an arm around his waist when he leaned over. Jim turned to him completely exasperated.

Spock just shrugged. "I have already seen you die once today."

Jim blinked and straightened. The human sighed and pulled the man into a quick hug.

Well, it was meant to be quick, anyway. Spock just wouldn't let him go.

.bdobd.

It took them two hours to agree on a story, but they finally managed it. Amanda had needed to go shopping for something for dinner. What it was that she was shopping for had been a topic of much disagreement. After half an hour of debating the comparative merits of sa-tai-i verses Vulcan Spice Tea, they'd just decided to have what it was be a surprise.

Amanda, once at the store, saw [something], and declared that she wanted [whatever-it-was] to be a surprise. So the two of them had gone wandering, gotten terribly lost…

And there they were, at the embassy! And they'd come in to have another look around and how are _you_ doing?

Spock didn't like the story. He didn't think it had enough details.

"I do not like this story," Spock declared. "I feel it is lacking in detail."

Jim did like the story, and was exasperated. He rolled his eyes. "I like the story," he said, exasperated, "anyway, we don't want to say _too_ much; we're bound to get a detail wrong. Let _them_ fill it in. And if anything goes wrong later, we can do damage control when," not if, "we get back to our time."

Spock clearly didn't agree, but decided not to argue. "Shall we go into the main building?"

Jim shrugged. "I think it'd be best down here, actually. There's climate control. I don't think anyone's going to go poking around here, anyway. It's sort of out-of-the-way."

Spock nodded. "Acceptable." He began to settle into a nook in the wall.

Jim frowned. "Do you need to charge?"

Spock shook his head. "I may go three days without charging. You know this."

"Yeah, but that was without a big shell to run. Are you gonna be alright?"

"Affirmative." Spock reached over and dragged Jim against him. "Sleep."

Jim made dissenting noises. "I'm fine."

"You will be cold. Sleep."

Jim grumbled a bit more, made himself comfortable, and drifted off.

.bdobd.


	10. A Death in the Family

A/N: Well, this only took about three eternities to write. Sorry for the lag.

.bdobd.

They didn't run into anyone until eleven o'clock the next day. Cassandra rounded a corner and Jim and Spock couldn't agree on which way to run. Her eyes widened.

"Jim!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Lady Amanda needed to shop for lunch supplies," Spock said quickly. "We went to explore the surrounding area, and found ourselves here."

Cassandra blinked at Jim. "Why are you eating if she is now buying food?"

Jim froze. He'd been hungry for lunch, and in this time line, Amanda was just explaining to this time's Jim what was so freaky about this time's Spock's shell's identity. "He has a high metabolism," Spock provided, "and she warned that it would take her some time to cook."

"Oh. I understand." Cassandra nodded sagely. "It must be tiring, needing to _consume_ in such a manner."

She made it sound like he was shoveling cake into his mouth with both hands. Jim stared incredulously down at his salad. "It's just salad."

Cassandra shrugged. "I suppose."

She spent the next few moment staring at Jim as he ate, which was more than a little unnerving. "A'y'ting 'oo 'eeded ta ask?" He asked as pointedly as he could with a mouthful of alien leaves.

"Yes, actually." She seemed hypnotized by chewing. Jim swallowed painfully. "What are your instructions? I did not hear anything of your orders."

"I'm kind of on call," Jim lied. "I think I'll wind up going with Picea to the High Council."

She nodded. "That makes sense. He was nervous."

Jim shrugged. "T'Pau's not so bad, once you get to know her."

Spock kicked him _really really hard_ under the table. Jim had no idea _why_ until Cassandra asked, "When did you get to talk to T'Pau?"

Jim now wanted to kick _himself_. "Um. She showed us to Sarek's house."

"As an escort," Spock supplied, so that it didn't sound like Sarek had forgotten where he lived.

Cassandra's eyes widened. "Wow, you must have had to wait _ages._ She showed us around the embassy and I did not see either of you."

–

"Sarek was giving us a separate tour of his offices," Spock said.

"Oh. That makes sense." Cassandra tilted her head like Spock did when he was replying to an email. "I must go. Autonomia and Lystol are leaving."

"Okay." "Very well."

"Goodbye guys!" she shouted as she left. Jim waved and Spock nodded.

Spock waited a minute before hitting Jim's shoulder with a sharp _twack!_ of metal on flesh. "_O-_ow!" Jim rubbed at the wound. "That's gonna bruise!"

"Are you a fool?" Spock asked rhetorically.

Jim scowled at him. "You want me to say yes?"

"Cassandra is now to go to Autonomia and Lystol and tell them all of what we have told her."

"So what? It's a really vague story and she bought it. We'll be fine. Worse thing that happens, we play damage control when we get back."

"What if we do _not_ get back?" Spock asked. "If too much is changed –,"

"Look." Jim waved his fork existentially. "I've been thinking. What if we _are _'back'? If these things happened while we were at your parent's house, we wouldn't've known. There's no reason for anyone to mention this to you while you're with the science people. I think that this time's Jim is going to die no matter what. We just take their places."

Spock looked carefully around the cafeteria-ish place. It was still deserted. As far as they could tell, Vulcans only ate in the morning.

"Then what is to happen to this time's Spock?" he asked. "I may agree with your theory on some things, but not on the replacement clause. If you are to take the place of this time's Jim, that is all well. But what of this time's _me?_"

Jim nodded as sagely as one could with a mouthful of not-quite-lettuce. "Right. Well, you don't know what happened to this time's you after I died, right?"

"Correct."

"So T'Pol could've turned on him next, right? Maybe you actually rewound the world to protect _yourself_ when she went after you!"

Spock blinked at him. "What relevance does this have? Would not this time's Spock and Jim disappear when this time's Spock goes back in time?"

"Ah! To _what _time? Ours? I don't think the universe can take more than two fourth dimensional time-folds,"– they'd decided that morning that they needed some sort of a name for Spock's odd rewinding history thingy. "It wouldn't stay stable. So if this time's Spock can't go back, and T'Pol goes after him, then he's gone too, and we've just got to get her and clean up the bodies!"

Spock blinked some more. "You are strangely sure of this sequence of events."

Jim squirmed. "Well, I kinda… Remember it. A bit. I didn't die immediately."

Spock stared at him. "… You remember both your own fatal wounding and my own death."

"Well when you put it like _that_ it sounds crazy," Jim said irritated. Spock raised An Eyebrow.

"I do not believe that I believe you."

Jim rolled his eyes and took another bite of salad. "'Ee need 'oo teach 'oo to speak 'ormal," he muttered. Spock did the eyebrow thing again.

"Assuming you are correct, we will have to dispose of the bodies of ourselves. How do you propose we do this?"

Jim, pleased that Spock had agreed with him, beamed. 20/20 hindsight, it was probably the creepiest thing he could have done. "I don't think many people go to those mountains. We could just stick them around a corner or something."

"What shall we say when the scavengers are followed to our own remains?"

Jim scowled at him. "Stop being so damn logical. Not everyone is as thorough as you are."

"If any people could be as methodical as I, it would be my own people," Spock responded arrogantly.

"Fine," Jim glared, "what's your brilliant idea? I'm just about out."

Spock looked like a sparrow who'd just been complained to about the quality of the tablecloths. "You are?"

"Well, I've been doing a lot lately," Jim said reasonably. "It's your turn."

"I do not believe that I will be of much use in this area," Spock muttered.

"Oh at least give it a try," Jim answered, exasperated. "I have to eat some time, you know."

Spock considered this. Jim consumed.

"… There is a possibility," Spock started slowly, "that this issue may not present itself at all."

"O'?" Jim asked. "'Ow so?"

"We are not supposed to exist because there are two sets of us. We do exist, however." Jim nodded silently, spurring the android on. "This is an extremely improbable occurrence. If an improbability field of exactly two to the power of seven thousand and twelve was –,"

"No!" Jim shouted wetly. "Not again! 'Ee've al'edy been through this! 'ook 'ere i's go'en us! No more 'eilds!"

"It may be our only choice," Spock argued. "This time must be unstable. I do not think that it will be intact for much longer. Another field may be able to stabilize it."

Jim swallowed heavily. "What, because two wrongs make a right in multidimensional physics?"

"No, because there is nothing else we can do."

"Oh, there has to be _something,_" Jim optimistically insisted.

"I do not think that there is." Spock leaned forward, beseeching. "Think. There is another time, here. There are other versions of us, here. I do not believe that changing their environment to suit our needs is ethical."

"What?" Jim squinted at the odd man. "Are you nuts? We need this to be ours. If it's not, we're dead. I don't want to die."

"Yes, but our manipulation of current events is unbeneficial to the residents of this timeline. Who are we to decide who is to live and prosper, and who is to die?" 

"We're desperate people," Jim said exasperatedly, "who want to survive. Who are stuck in a place filled with people who aren't supposed to exist anyway."

"I was not supposed to exist," Spock pointed out. "Does that make me unworthy of life? These people are the children and parents of others. I do not feel comfortable participating in a plan of this nature."

Jim sighed. "Look. Spock." He leaned forward. "If you can find a way – any other way – to get us back to our time, I will cheerfully follow you to the ends of the galaxy. But I don't know how else to do this."

Spock was silent for a few seconds. "… It is not _fair_," he insisted quietly.

Jim nodded tiredly. "No. It's not."

.bdobd.

By the time this time's Jim and T'Pau went off to this time's T'Pol's house, Jim and Spock had already been climbing the L-langin Mountains for half an hour. They'd thought it might be a good idea to get there early.

They watched the pod glide into the tunnel of the shuttle station. "Well. Now what," Jim asked.

Spock shrugged slightly. T'Pol'd gone down to the station ten minutes ago to welcome her doomed guest. The acoustics were such that they could talk about as loudly as they wanted to without having to worry about being overheard by anyone below them. "It seems wise to find a way to gain entrance to the building. I am uncertain how to accomplish this, however."

Jim groaned theatrically and pivoted to stare up at the imposing wall of starship hull. The shape of the house made it absolutely impossible to sneak in: it was set into a freaking mountain. It was front door or bust.

"It's weird that she didn't put in any kind of an escape hatch," Jim mused. "You'd think someone who worked for Starfleet would want some sort of a Plan B."

Spock froze in the middle of nodding his agreement. He speed-walked over to the intersection of metal and mountain and shot up the side of the rock. "I didn't know you could rock climb," Jim called up to the rapidly ascending Vulcan.

"It is a newly acquired skill," Spock answered coolly. Jim laughed.

"What're you looking for, anyway?"

Spock disappeared over the top of the mountain. "I, too, find it unlikely that T'Pol left herself no secondary exit route," Spock yelled. "There should be a hatch –,"

Jim stiffened as Spock's voice cut off unexpectedly. The android was disturbingly quiet. "You alright Spock?" he shouted. "You kinda dropped off there."

"Negative," a muffled voice said from inside the house, "I dropped in."

Jim grinned and ambled over to the door. "Soo, you gonna let me in."

"… I am considering it," came the voice.

Jim snorted. "C'mon, T'Pol and this Jim'll be here soon. We don't have that much time."

"We have much time," the voice said. The door popped open and…

It wasn't Spock.

.bdobd.

Not-Spock looked just as surprised as Jim felt. In a rather more subtle way, of course, but that was to be expected. "You are not my Jim."

"And you're not my Spock. What'd you do to him?"

Not-Spock looked older and thinner, altogether more 'Vulcany'. He had on long black robes that were tight across the chest and waist, and that were loose from the hip down. It was very dashing, and not what his Spock had had on when he climbed up the mountain.

"I do not believe I did anything to anyone," Not-Spock said slowly. "I opened the door to the dwelling of my cousin when it was requested of me by my bonded. I found that you are not he."

"Well then where's my Spock?" Jim demanded, crossing his arms stubbornly.

Not-Spock shook his head. "I do not know." He made to close the door. "Good day."

"Nu-uh!" Jim stuck his foot in the door. "I'm coming in. My Spock went up there to figure out how to get in, and either he was attacked _really really quietly_ or he fell in something and needs help getting out. There has to be a ladder in here _somewhere_."

Not-Spock blinked at him as if he'd never seen an obstinate human before. "You are very determined," he said.

Jim raised his eyebrows and waited for Not-Spock to open the door.

Not-Spock did so. Jim swished into the house with a practiced flare. He chocked ungracefully on the super-heated air inside. "What the fuck!" he gasped.

"It is damp here," Not-Spock pointed out. "I raised the climate-control unit."

Jim gave him a chance to examine an excellent example of a Terran derogatory gesture and began staggering through rooms. Not-Spock followed behind him anxiously. "Where are you going? You seem to be ill. Shall I call a medical professional? You are human, yes?"

Jim didn't answer. He finally sighted the point at the back of the house and sped up.

There was a hatch set into the ceiling just above the sharply angled walls. Jim grinned victoriously. He _knew_ it. There had to be a reason T'Pol hadn't just let the house end on a rounded corner. He'd seen _something_ when he'd climbed the walls the first time, but T'Pol'd called him into the kitchen and he'd completely forgotten about it.

He was settling his foot into a rough patch of plaster when Not-Spock laid an authoritative hand on his shoulder. "I demand to know who you are. You have broken into –,"

"Who is James Tiberius Kirk?" Jim asked without turning from the walls.

Not-Spock blinked. "… Kirk? I know no one by the name of Kirk. What are you talking about."

"What about Jim? Do you know any Jims?"

"Affirmative. Jim is –," Jim could hear Not-Spock narrow his eyes. "Why do you wish to know this information?"

Jim smiled grimly. It made sense. "Jim is an android, right? He can make infinite improbability fields."

Not-Spock spun him around and pressed him against one of the walls. "How do you know of this? Nothing has been released."

"It's a long story. I need to find someone. I know who you're missing." He put on his best Disinterested/Bored Tone. "It's Jim, right? Someone who looks and sounds and acts like me. He was made by accident when you were trying for an infinite field."

"How do you know of this?" Not-Spock repeated stubbornly. "Nothing has been released."

"And you came here to show him off," Jim continued, "and he and T'Pol left the house for a while and didn't come back. You thought I was him."

Not-Spock's back was perfectly perpendicular to the floor. "That is correct," he said stiffly. "How do you know of this."

"In my world," Jim said, "it's you who's the field machine. I'm the one who screwed with you and made you sentient. We came here to vouch for android rights and I came here to talk with T'Pol. Spock came just in time to see her murder me."

Not-Spock's eyes blew wide. He let go of Jim and took a shaky step back before running full-throttle towards the door to the outside.

Jim turned around and began to scale the point. He knew where to put his feet now, and he wasn't playing. Somewhere on the top of the mountain Spock was faced with either Not-Jim's corpse or a Not-T'Pol.

The hatch in the ceiling was stuck on something. Jim braced his feet wide and thumped on the door as hard as he could with both hands. Something bumped back after a few seconds.

Jim paled. He found the side of the door opposite the hinges and pushed.

Something large and heavy rolled off of the hatch's opening, letting the door swing free.

Jim poked his head through the ceiling cautiously and peered into the black where the thing had rolled. His eyes widened as he took in the huge lump on the other side of the tunnel.

He grabbed the dead body of Not-Jim and tossed it onto the floor. Sparks flew from the frayed wires that hung from Not-Jim's mutilated neck.

Jim swallowed and heaved himself into the dark, narrow tunnel. Nothing would get better from him sticking around to marvel at how awful his own carcass looked.

.bdobd.

Jim crawled through the tunnels in the ceiling for what felt like hours until he found a ladder leading up to a door. The door opened onto the top of the mountain: Spock should be nearby.

Jim wandered about for a few minutes before admitting that Spock was not, in fact, anywhere nearby. He sighed and stomped back towards the hatch.

Spock was waiting there for him.

Jim broke into a huge grin. "Spock! I should've known you'd be in the last place I looked: how've you been? I had the weirdest conversation with a guy that looked just like you."

Spock nodded stiffly. "And I, you. Was the person you talked to an organic form of myself?"

"What?" Jim stopped about a foot in front of the Vulcan. "Well, yeah, actually. How'd you know?"

"I met your android form. He was waiting here."

"Ah," Jim winced, "I, ah, I did too."

"How is that possible?" Spock blinked. "Did he say anything of his alternate-dimension theory?"

"Well, he wasn't in the best condition."

"What do you mean?"

"He was pretty dead."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"… How, may I ask –?"

"Practically decapitated. Only his spinal cord was still attached."

"… That is regrettable."

"I feel worse for Selek – the not-you," Jim explained at Spock's confused look. "He looked pretty upset when I said that T'Pol was probably going to go after him – the not-me."

Spock nodded. "Indeed." 

It sounded really sick, when he put it that way. It wasn't really a big issue, though. The dead's problems were basically over: it was the survivors who had to deal with the aftermath. Really, being permanently unconscious didn't sound terrible right now.

"Yeah, I guess," Jim shrugged. "Do you think there are two T'Pols?" 

"Negative," Spock said. "If there were two of them, they would have contacted each other and engaged in a confrontation. Only one could have survived such."

"So, basically even if there were two of them, they would've killed each other by now," Jim said flatly.

"Yes."

Jim sighed and turned to stare out at one of the setting suns. The light had been turning bloodier with every hour. The sun's rays danced nervously over the mountain itself - they clung tightly to the sides of the cliff, just shy of the house, as if afraid of what they'd find there. Jim couldn't really blame them. Jim hadn't heard anything from Selek for hours; the man was probably dead.

"Any brilliant ideas?"

Spock shuffled quietly next to him to stand meekly by his shoulder. "There may be a way to reverse the time alteration, but such would damage the time stream irreparably. I do not believe that my manipulations of time are beneficial to the universe as it is."

Jim snorted. "Probably not." He twisted to stare at his odd companion. "What should we do? I don't want to stay here."

"Here may in fact be our time stream," Spock pointed out. "Time was only rewound. I believe that this is our lot, now." 

"Well, fuck." Jim gazed delicately over the side of the cliff, looking for bodies. "We've got at least two bodies here, probably three, and no good explanation for any of them."

Spock's hand came to rest on Jim's lower back. Jim'd like to think it was for comfort, but it was probably just to make sure he didn't throw himself off the edge or something.

"… We should locate the corpses," Spock finally said. "If we explain the situation to the proper Vulcan authorities, we should not be punished. We did not, in fact, do anything illegal." The android's tone revealed how little he believed in his own plan.

Good or not, a plan was still better than dicking around without direction. Jim trudged over to the hatch in the rock and looked into it. This was probably going to suck.

"Shall we go look for decomposing flesh?" he said brightly.

Spock winced and crouched next to him. "It seems we have few alternatives."

.bdobd.

Not-Jim was lying where Jim'd left him. Spock flinched and dropped from the hole in the ceiling with a bit more grace than Jim'd had.

"Was it necessary to land on directly onto his torso?" Spock asked. His voice carried a faint tone of horror with it in a knapsack.

"Where else was I going to put my feet?" Jim said, kicking Not-Jim's shoulder so he could get into a hallway.

Spock now looked definitively ill. He grabbed Not-Jim's carcass and propped up against a wall in a seated position. Jim turned to peer at the strange Vulcan and groaned. "Aw, why'd you do that? Now his head's all floppy."

The android's mutilated neck wasn't enough to hold his head straight on his shoulders. It lolled alarmingly. Spock pushed it slightly into a more respectable position.

"It is better than being kicked."

"Dude, it's my body. Sorta. I can desecrate it all I want."

Spock frowned at him. "Is the body of an –?"

"This has nothing to do with him being an android," Jim said, exasperated. "It's about me self-identifying the body as my own. And fuck, it's not like _he_ cares." he gestured expansively to the very very dead lump that was slowly tumbling in upon itself against the wall.

Spock whined softly. Jim stared at him. "Seriously. He's _fine._ We're having a way worse time of it than he is, remember? He's dead. Dead dead, can't-be-more-dead-than-this _dead_. He can't feel any more."

"He deserves some respect," Spock said quietly.

"It's just flesh now," Jim pointed out. "Well, metal. Sorta. And silicon and stuff. Any way you look at what-was-him, he/it can't care any more. Why dance around it when you could just move it?"

"It is not right," Spock insisted.

"Fine," Jim shrugged. "I'm gonna go see if I can help anyone who _can_ feel and who _can _care and who _can_ be helped. You can stay back here and worry about things that've passed on."

He walked out of the room.

Spock did, eventually, follow.

They found Selek's body, which was way more gory than Not-Jim's had been. Selek had fought back. They found most of him.

They didn't get much of T'Pol, though. Or Not-T'Pol, they couldn't really tell without A) asking which universe she was from (quite impossible) or B) closely examining the corpse, which they didn't have all of. She had misplaced most of her arms and was missing a lot of her right leg.

The second T'Pol was nowhere to be found. Spock postulated that she'd run off deep into the L-langin Mountains, which was just fine with Jim.

Having done all of this, they then got into a bit of a disagreement over what to do. Spock did not and _would_ not stay in T'Pol's house, for obvious but frustrating reasons. Jim didn't want to go back into the city without first making sure that they were in the right universe.

They decided to sleep on it. Spock found a spot high on another mountain peak, where the fog wasn't quite so bone chilling and the smell of the bodies wouldn't carry. Jim used his shirt as a pillow and curled up against a rock wall. Spock sat opposite him and considered him carefully as he fell asleep.

.bdobd.


	11. Prior Planning

A/N: A la-matya is a big Vulcan predator that shows up in _The Animated Series_ episode 'Yesteryear'. It's quite green.

.bdobd.

Jim awoke to Spock gazing contemplatively at him. The Vulcan had moved about seven feet closer to him during the night, which very noisily scared Jim out of his wits.

"_Y_-_aaaawnHOlySHIT! Ohmygodwhatthefuck –! SPOCK!_ Back _UP!_"

Spock leapt backwards and huddled morosely against the other side of the rocky clearing. "I did not know my moving would distress you," he murmured sorrowfully. "I apologize."

Jim was learning how to breathe again. "It's… alright. I'm fine." He panted for a few moments. "… What was that all about?"

"I wished to observe you." Spock seemed confused by the very question.

Jim grew exasperated. "You could've done that perfectly well from over _there_." He gestured floppily to the sandstone wall the android was pressed against.

Spock practiced his 'wounded' look. He hadn't used it much before. It was quite good. "I did not know I would offend you," he whimpered.

Jim tried to hold onto his sleepy irritation and failed miserably. He sighed grandly and held out his arms. "C'mere."

"What?"

"Get _over_ here, you ridiculous creature."

Spock scuttled over in a vaguely crablike fashion. Jim looped his arms firmly around the extraordinarily odd person and drew him into a definitive hug. "Now." He set his chin on the top of Spock's head and felt his teeth clack as he spoke. "What's going on. You're not usually this anxious."

"…"

"I'm not going to let go."

"… I am stronger than you are by a factor of –,"

"Any you're not leaving, either."

Spock didn't seem to have any response to this. Jim squeezed lightly. "It's just you and me up here," he reminded him. "We're gonna be fine."

"I have found very convincing evidence to the contrary," Spock muttered in what Jim thought was a rather childish manner.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Jim asked reasonably. "We didn't hurt them. We warned them off of going back into the house. T'Pol's crazy; there's nothing to do about that, really. Wrong place, wrong time. Really, the only terrible think that could happen would be if we lost our jobs because of bad PR, but I don't think Dam Kore'll be able to do that without pissing off most of the other workers."

"You hold us in very high regard. We are new to the company and inexperienced."

"Spock, we're _pretty_," Jim said patiently. "It's a _lobbying firm_. We're _fine_."

"But that should not be _so_," Spock argued forcefully. "That is not _right_. What is the matter with such people? Everyone made _sense_ when I was not sentient. They gave orders and meant them. They gave ultimatums that were real. They honored those who failed. They did not _lie!_"

Jim winced and tugged him closer. "I know," he said into Spock's hair. "I don't like it either."

"It should be _changed_."

"Yes."

"Could we –?"

"No," Jim interrupted. "We really couldn't. Not if we want to be able to live. Look, I know you don't eat, but I need to, and that costs credits. And _you_ need an electrical outlet every third night. We can't just 'go rogue'."

"Are you sure?" Spock asked. "Is that so certain?"

"Yes."

Spock waited for details that were not forthcoming. "… Have you any supporting evidence?" he requested slowly.

"Have you – did anyone teach you about Tarsus IV?"

"Affirmative." Spock sounded surprised by the question. "I was briefed on current events, though infrequently. I do not comprehend what such has to do with this conversation."

Jim struggled for the right words. "I – well –,"

He tried to find a way to say 'I'm a survivor of Tarsus IV' that didn't sound so much like 'I'm a survivor of Tarsus IV', and failed.

"I'm a survivor of Tarsus IV," he muttered.

"You are?" Spock pulled away from him slightly. "I had not expected such."

"… Yeah."

"Fascinating." Spock hummed – no, his brain hummed, literally, as it processed this information. "I still do not understand what this has to do with lying."

Jim blinked. "'Fascinating'? That's it? That's all you want to say to me after I tell you I lived through the worst genocide of the century?"

"… So far."

"What?"

"The worst genocide of the century _so far_. We are only fifty-seven years into this century."

Jim gaped at him and resolved to get him a checkup when they got back to Shi'Kahr. Spock did not _make_ those kinds of jokes. "I –! Well, I mean, yeah, but –,"

"Would your moral be aided if I began pacing the area, lamenting what has already passed?" Spock asked glibly. "If so, I shall gladly perform such a scene, but it does seem rather egotistical to ask me to do so."

Jim kept gaping. It wasn't that he _wanted_ Spock to be unhappy – the opposite, in fact – but this was probably the calmest discussion he'd ever had of this. When he told Bones the two of them had been forced to drink until their brains were doing backstrokes between their ears so that they could make it through the conversation.

"… No, no, that'd be fine," Jim rasped.

"I will be happy to wail if need be," Spock assured him. "I am merely concerned for our safety if I begin to shriek."

"… Safety?"

"The L-langin Mountains are known for its healthy la-matya population," Spock cheerfully informed him. "Did you not know this?"

.bdobd.

Jim dragged Spock to the pod station after that particularly amazing comment. He ordered the android to get the pod to go to Shi'Kahr, which Spock did, after a bit of a tiff. They were now crammed into the pod, Spock Definitely Not Glaring out of the window, and Jim Totally Not Sulking across the bench.

Cassandra and Lystol were at the Embassy when the pod slid into the station, and lit upon them with much fluttering and cooing noises. Apparently, one of the T'Pols's bodies had been found late last night, and the other Spock's, and no one had been able to figure out what had happened.

"So you're just not going to tell us?" Lystol fumed.

"I really think I should talk to the Vulcan authorities, first," Jim argued back. "You're just my superviser; they're the police."

"I'm telling Picea!" he announced grandly, and stalked off to find the missing android. Jim groaned and ground his head into Spock's shoulder.

"Spo-ock. These people are _crazy_."

"Oh?" Cassandra asked haughtily.

Spock took a moment to consider his answer. "… Such is a sign of equality," he finally stated.

Cassandra made a face at him. "_What_."

"'These _people_'," Spock quoted, "are becoming irritating. If true equality is to be found, the negative phenomena surrounding such a state are also to be expected."

She thought about this carefully, and then made another face at him.

The group was currently tucked away in the hallway right next to the stairwell down to the Embassy's pod station. Jim had a feeling that there were Vulcans listening with considerable interest around the corner; he wondered if Cassandra and Lystol had figured out how good an average Vulcan's hearing was yet.

Lystol came steaming around the corner with an exhausted Picea in tow. "I found him!"

"Congradulations," Jim said blandly.

"What the fuck is going on?" Picea asked tiredly. "I've got a lot of shit on my plate."

Lystol pointed an accusatory finger at Jim. "He was to speak with the Vulcan authorities before meeting with us!"

Picea blinked and pivoted slowly to stare at the bend in the hall where Vulcans were sure to be. He turned very, very slowly back to Lystol. "_And_?"

Jim snickered and Spock raised an eyebrow. Lystol spluttered, but Picea cut him off. "There are at least six Vulcans standing about fifteen feet away; these are people with bloody fucking fantastic hearing and you're telling me you're worried about them _finding out _about a series of deaths that happened on _their own planet?_"

"… Well, yes," Lystol finally said. "But when you put it that way –,"

"Jim, Spock, to the Vulcans. Now."

"Yes, Lystol."

"Yessir." Jim actually had to stop himself from snapping a salute; Picea and Captain Pike sounded a lot alike when they were pissed and tired. Spock made his merry way down the hall, as did Jim, after he stuck his tongue out at Lystol.

.bdobd.

It took about an hour for the Vulcan High Council to believe Jim and Spock's theory of the alternate flipped-body dimensions. There was then another half hour that alternated between wildly theoretical dimensional physics and incredibly practical and gory questions about the location of the bodies.

Finally, _finally_, it was over. Jim repressed a huge sigh of relief as they were dismissed from the Council's chambers.

"So, now what?" He asked Spock as he streatched out his legs.

Spock seemed distracted by something on Jim's pants. He peered down at his utterly filthy jeans. "What's wrong? Nothing's crawling on me, right?"

Spock's attention returned to Jim's face with remarkable speed. "Negative. All is well."

"That's good." Jim started out of the cavernous rooms and heard Spock clip quickly to catch up with him. "So, seriously, what do we do now? I don't think that crashing at – that's living at, bunking in," he clarified quickly, "your parents' house any more."

"I believe you are correct," Spock said sardonically to something over Jim's right shoulder. The blonde had been twisted oddly to look at the man he was actually talking to, and pivoted forward to see an absolutely infuriated Amanda steaming towards the two of them at top speed.

Jim ducked instinctively.

Amanda stopped sharply in front of her son, chest heaving dramatically. "You," she hissed. "Do you have _ANY_ idea how worried I was?"

"Negative, but I assume that you will inform me of such soon," Spock said honestly, which was a bit of a mistake.

Amanda gawped at him for a while before turning her wrath upon the still half-crouching human. "Any you! I _know_ you have a comm! I _know_ you have a comm! I also know that _you have our number._ You were gone for _two days_, and then they find my son's body in a _ditch_ with his aunt next to him _without a head!_ Why the _hell _didn't you call?"

Jim blinked submissively at her from his spot just-behind-Spock. "… Ah, well, funny story, that," he answered when he realized that she'd finished yelling at him. "I, um, I'm not sure if I actually have permission to tell you that –,"

Amanda whipped her comm out angrily and dialed Jim's number. He winced and waited for the inevitable.

Nothing rang. She got even angrier. "_You didn't bring your comm!_"

"I do not believe that a raised tone will make this conversation any more effective," Spock said reasonably.

"Spock! Shut up! This is no time to be logical!" Jim hissed.

The _seething_ woman was actually in the process of turning on Spock when Sarek came out of the Council's cambers. He took in his wife's infuriated expression and blinked blandly at her. "Amanda? What has occurred?"

"I'll _tell_ you what's happened!" she shrieked. (Jim pinched Spock sharply to stop him from commenting on this.) "_These_ two," she pointed at the cowering human and totally oblivious Vulcan, "went out and got themselves _half killed _without _telling _me or _bringing their comms!_ Neither of them! They both left theirs! What kind of intelligent person leaves their comms when going to a place they've never been before!"

"An otherwise intelligent person is capable of being a poor planner," Sarek said reasonably. "I do not understand why this particular fact is so disturbing to you. This event has in fact provided some truly fascinating evidence for the theory of alternate and _viable_ dimensions."

"I don't _care_ about alternate dimensions right now, my son was almost killed!"

"James was actually in much more danger than Spock was at any particular time," Sarek pointed out with very little diplomacy. His wife glared daggers at him, which appeared to confuse him. "I do not understand why you are angry at me," he said. "These events are not of my making."

Amanda looked from her obstinate husband to her still _completely_ oblivious son to Jim, who had straightened slightly only to duck again when her eyes landed on him.

She seemed to consider her situation for a moment before literally throwing up her hands. "I'm going back to the house to get drunk," she announced.

Jim whistled as she swished determinedly down the hall. "Now _there's_ a woman who knows how to make an exit."

Sarek and Spock both nodded emphatically, in sort of a low-key way.

.bdobd.

Sarek made some more confused noises, spending much of the next two hours proving _exactly _who Spock got his obliviousness from. T'Pau finally had to intervene and wound up deciding to pack Jim and Spock back off to Earth: they weren't to be charged with a crime, but they were certainly a nuisance. One of T'Pau's many nieces (T'P-something as well) was ordered to go get their things from Amanda's house.

Sarek was packed off with the niece to, basically, distract his wife until the niece could collect what she needed to and skedaddle. All of this took a surprisingly small amount of time, as the Vulcans were bloody efficient. T'Pau managed to get them in a transporter to the Terran Embassy in an hour flat.

Spock and Jim rematerialized in the Embassy. It was then that Jim remembered where the Embassy actually _was_.

Ambassadors went to the Embassy. Ambassadors were important. Important people needed protection.

_Starfleet Headquarters had a lot of extra Security crew._

Which meant that Jim rematerialized, stepped off of the platform, and was then accosted by an absolutely livid Captain Pike.

"_What the fuck did you think you were doing?_" The infuriated man screamed. "I had you on _Command track!_ There isn't even supposed to _be _a Command track! And I'm sent off," Pike gestured sharply upwards, "on a milk run and I come back and I hear that my Sponsored has just gotten himself _discharged_ because of a _computer!_"

"Not a computer," Spock said quietly, "but a person."

Pike whirled on Spock and seemed to choke on whatever he was going to yell. "You_ho-oly_shit. Um." Pike blinked furiously at the Vulcan, who stood patiently next to the transporter pad. "Hello."

Spock inclined his head politely and held up the Vulcan salute. "Greetings."

"So, you're, ah –,"

"Affirmative."

"… Oh."

"Indeed."

Pike turned awkwardly to Jim. "… Why him?" he asked finally.

Jim shrugged and grinned wanly at his sponsor. "Why not him?"

Pike stared contemplatively at Spock, who returned the gaze almost as if he were bored. "I suppose," Pike said finally, "that you could look at it that way, yes."

.bdobd.

As Jim and Spock were technically guests, they got one of the diplomat's rooms on the second floor. Jim staggered into the room and fell onto the only available bed with a hearty moan.

"This day fucking _sucked_, dude."

He could hear Spock raise an eyebrow. The android tugged his bag from his reluctant fingers and set it next the door. "While I am not in total agreement with your phrasing," he murmured, "the sentimite is shared between us."

Jim snorted into the bedspread. "Imma go to bed. Sleepy."

"I am in need of assistance first. Have you any idea where an outlet would be found?"

Jim raised his head heavily. "A wall socket? Um." Most ambassadors that he knew were rich enough to have dilithium or solar devices. Any electrical outlets would be more for the janitorial staff.

"… There might be one behind the chest-of-drawers," he said doubtfully. Jim heaved himself up tiredly. "Get all of the stuff on the top of the chest onto the bed; we'll have to walk it out to see if there's anything there."

Spock nodded and started to very precisely place all of the trinkets onto the blanket. Jim crouched close to the wall and squished his forehead into the painted plaster, trying to see behind the chest.

No use. It was too close.

Fuck, this was on wall-to-wall spray-on carpet, too, it was gonna be a pain to get this thing moved.

When was the last time they'd've cleaned _underneath_ the chest? It was going to be filthy under there.

Spock paused and un-frowned at the floor where the chest had been dumped like a drunken human. "I do not understand how one would use an outlet closeted behind such an unmanageable piece of furniture," he stated finally.

"… Yeah, I have to agree. I'm not sure where else they'd stick one, though." Jim stood slowly and prowled around the baseboards. "Electrical outlets aren't really the priority."

"Indeed," sounded a sardonic voice. Jim snorted again and lay on his stomach to peer underneath the bedside table closest to the window. He heard a sluggish shuffling sound and straightened with confusion.

"What –? Oh, yeah, I guess that works too." Where Jim had been thinking of tugging on the faux-wooden monstrosity, Spock had just _picked it up_ and set it down three feet to his left. He stood un-frowning at the sickly carpet that'd been left to molder and grow strange appendages in the shadows for god knows how long.

"There is not outlet here."

"And it looks _dead_," Jim responded. He grabbed the bedside table by its belly and dragged it a few inches from the wall. "Nothing here, either." He could hear Spock lifting the chest and setting it down with a dull _thunk_ back on top of the fascinatingly dead carpeting.

Jim wandered blandly into the bathroom. "There's one in here," he called. "But you'd have to sit on the countertop all night."

"… That sounds singularly uncomfortable."

"… Yeah."

The outlet was clearly for hair dryers or toothbrushes. It hovered maliciously about four inches from the surface of the marble counter, gleaming dully and cackling with glee.

Spock poked his head into the bathroom to stare at the evil outlet. "… I shall charge now, then," he announced, "and bring a chair into this room. If you need to utilize these facilities, you may knock."

"Sounds good to me," Jim said with a shrug. "What're you going to do in here all by your lonesome?"

"Read," Spock answered promptly. "I may converse with Dam Kore, as well. She will expect some sort of an explanation for our unscheduled return."

"Alright. I'm going to go sleep."

Spock nodded and left to go wrangle up a chair. Jim walked over to the bed and allowed his knees to turn to rice pudding.

He was out before his shoulders hit the sheets.

.bdobd.

It was dark when Jim woke up. He peered blearily at the clock, which read 7:36, which was of absolutely no use: he didn't know whether these clocks were on military time so he didn't know if it was seven o'clock in the morning or in the evening.

"Spock?" he called hoarsely. "You still here?"

"Affirmative." Jim heard a sharp popping sound as Spock unplugged himself from the wall. "Are you in need of assistance?"

"No, no, I'm fine," he answered. "What time is it locally?"

"It is seven minutes and forty six seconds to the twenty-second hour," Spock replied, his voice echoing oddly on the tiles of the bathroom.

It took Jim a while to figure out what the android had actually said; apparently it was seven minutes to ten o'clock at night. "Thanks."

"Are you in need of assistance?" Spock asked again, entering the bedroom. "I have finished charging and am at full performance."

Now, usually Jim was pretty good not reading what he knew to be unintentional sexual innuendos into Spock's rather florid speech patterns. But he was tired, and the filters in his brain weren't working very well and needed to be cleaned, preferably with Drain-O or some other potentially lethal substance.

"James?" Spock walked over to the bed to peer suspiciously down at the human. "Are you ill?"

Jim was tempted to say yes, just so that he could go into the Medical Bays where he knew where everything was and who everyone was and how the world was going to be like for him, if only for the next three days or so.

He didn't like lying to Spock. "No," he said, and sat up and stretched, "I'm just tired still."

"You may return to sleeping," Spock suggested. "We have not anywhere to be for another ten hours."

"Nah, I'm up now." Jim blinked sharply as he absorbed the second part of Spock's statement. "Wait. Ten hours? What are we doing at eight o'clock in the morning on a Monday?"

"We are going to the Lorentian System. We have been reassigned."

"Really?" Jim asked incredulously. "After screwing up the universe's timeline?"

"Affirmative." Spock nodded, but looked uncomfortable. "Manipulations of the timeline of the universe require infinite improbability fields. I am to –,"

"They're going to do tests on you!"

"Yes." Spock settled his hands nervously at the small of his back. "They are."

"Don't go."

"We have no choice."

"The hell we don't!" Jim shot off of the bed and began to fitfully pace length of the room. "You don't _have_ to do this; you're a free citizen. You've got choices just like everyone else does. She can't _order_ you to do something you refuse to do!"

"But she can restrict my access to electricity," Spock said softly. "She has proven that beyond a doubt."

Jim spun to face him. "Excuse me."

"She is who requested this room for us. The High Council informed her of our departure an hour before we left the planet, and she was to make arrangements for us. She knew of the outlet situation." Spock didn't _shrug_, but the sentimite was definitely there.

"I researched other living areas," he continued, "and few have electricity any more. Dam Kore has premier access to the most affordable housing that does have a current."

"That's _evil!_" Jim raged. "Damn it, I'm going to Pike. This isn't right."

"What is Captain Pike to do with this information, James," Spock demanded. "Shall he call Dam Kore and accuse her of criminal actions? She has done nothing illegal."

"She's limiting essential recourses _on purpose_ because she _knows_ you can't live without it," Jim seethed. "That sounds pretty damn criminal to me!"

"An organic person works in a job they do not care for to pay bills and to eat," Spock said stubbornly. "How is this different?"

"An organic has _options_. They may not _like _their job, but if they decide they really hate it, they can change to a lower-paying position they like better. You don't have that; lobbying groups are the only guys I know of that'll hire known androids."

Spock considered this carefully. "… I agree. But this situation will not change within three days, and that is how long I can go without charging. Until I find other options, I must go to the Lorentian System, and Dam Kore has ordered us a pair. If you do not go, I cannot, and I will be shut down."

"I won't abandon you," Jim said exasperatedly, "but it's not _right!_ She shouldn't be able to have that kind of control over the entire population of _anything_, let alone sentient beings."

Spock did the un-shrug again. "I do not agree with her, either," he stated finally, "but I must charge, and she knows this, and she has planned farther than I have for this eventuality. There is nothing else to do."

.bdobd.


	12. Breaking News

A/N: Sorry about the lag. I got a huge rush of inspiration for my other WIP, Lost in Translation, after a number of really fantastic reviews popped up for chapter twenty. I wound up writing chapter twenty-one the very next day, and sort of forgot about this story until I looked at my calendar and realized that you'd all been very patiently waiting for me to update this.

As a retail worker, I can say with total confidence that some version of the Most Interesting Customer of the Day Award is distributed at every shop, everywhere. I've only won it once (to my knowledge): I fell down a hill while running, scraping up my elbows and my left knee. I also broke my glasses. The next day I went, heavily bandaged, to the glasses shop, where I promptly began to _ooze_ through my shirt and pants. I used up all of the shop's first aid kit putting another layer of gauze over my seeming wounds.

.bdobd.

Spock had had to make soothing noises at Jim for another hour before he could convince the absolutely _infuriated_ human to go back to bed. Jim woke up in the exact same pissy mood that he'd gone to bed in, found Spock's note explaining that the android'd gone to poke around the Sciences labs, and marched off to find Pike.

Pike was at his desk in his temporary office, looking annoyed. His face soured as Jim burst through his door.

"Captain Pike, sir!" Jim flashed a haphazard salute that would've gotten him three deck punishments if he'd still been in the Fleet. "I've got to talk to you!"

"… I can see that," Pike drawled. "Have you made an appointment? You _are_ a civilian."

Jim stopped short and squinted at his former mentor. "What are you talking about? I'm a drop-in case; it's very important, sir. Spock's in trouble!"

Pike leaned back in his chair and pretended not to notice how the seat mewled pitifully at the strain. "He seemed fine when he came in here, _Mr. Kirk_."

"He was here? That's weird; he told me he was going to the labs."

"The head of the Observational Sciences department commed me to say that their metal detector was going haywire, and that they wanted me to come and collect the man they thought was carrying heavy artillery."

Jim groaned. "And it was Spock."

"He is a metal-based android," Pike said with a shrug. "There's no reason the alarms would not've detected that."

"What'd he do?" Jim asked. "I bet he was surprised."

"That, and a bit put out." Damnit, 'a bit put out' in Spockese could be anything from 'disappointed' to 'suicidal'. "I'm going to go find him," Jim declared. "I'll see you later."

"I last heard of him being near the Sciences fountain!" Pike called at his back.

Spock was indeed at the fountain. The android was staring morosely at the structure, seated a careful two feet away to keep from getting wet.

"If you get water on you, you won't short circuit, right?" Jim asked nonchalantly as he planted himself next to the depressed Vulcan.

"Negative," Spock answered glumly. "My outer layers are water retardant."

"That's good." He threw a casual arm around the other man's surprisingly hard shoulders.

"They are also sensitive to Starfleet standard metal detectors," Spock continued.

Jim winced. "… That sucks."

Spock just stared at the odd fountain, whose waters were churning in a vaguely explicit fashion. "Is there anything I can do for you? You seem really unhappy."

"Vulcans do not –,"

"Negatively affected by previous occurrences, a situation I wish to help rectify," Jim interrupted exasperatedly.

Spock was quiet for a few moments. "… I wanted to view the room that I was kept in under the Kobayashi Maru title. I did not realize that my shell would prevent me from entering into areas I had previously inhabited without issue."

The softer bits of Jim's heart melted into a warm-jello consistency and cooed for their depressed friend. "I'm sorry," Jim said quietly. "I don't think there's a lot I can do about that."

"I realize this. I do not expect you to tend to my every need."

"I feel bad, though."

Spock smiled slightly at the water. "It is a habit of yours."

"Not true. Sometimes I feel bad for myself, instead."

Spock _chuff_ed in amusement. "To have the ability to manage such a broad range of emotions with so little visible effect is an enviable skill."

Jim snorted. "When are we going to the Lorentian System?"

"We are to take a civilian shuttle and send any expenses to the ARA to be paid. Shuttles will be leaving in either two hours or four and a half hours."

"… We're sending _all_ bills to Dam Kore?" Jim murmured.

Spock finally turned to look at him with a suspicious look. "You are contemplating something unwise."

"… Depends on your definition of 'unwise', I think." Spock opened his mouth to argue, but Jim cut him off. "Have you ever heard of a place called the Castro?"

"… I am feeling acute apprehension, Jim."

.bdobd.

In every business, in every country, on every planet, there is an award given out to exactly one customer or group of customers. Some people, usually those trying to be politically correct, may insist that they do not distribute this award, but they are lying. This award is the risk inherent in purchasing anything or requesting the services of anyone other than a close relative.

This is the Most Interesting Customer of the Day Award.

Recipients may look forward to the knowledge that they will be discussed at great length for the next three hours to three weeks. They may stand proud, knowing that someone, somewhere, is asking his or her friend/relative/pet, "What the _fuck _were they thinking? Really? Really? Doing _that_ in public?"

The public shuttle service had seen its fair share of strange people throughout the day. By seven o'clock, the Three A.M. 'My Spouse is Angry and I Need to Leave NOW' rush had passed, as had the Seven Thirty Four 'I Am Late and I'm Blaming it on You' crowd, and the ever-intriguing 'It's Six Forty and I Don't Want to Make Dinner Again' group had long left the station.

It wasn't late enough for the drunks, yet, and the prostitutes hadn't congealed around the entrance in large enough numbers to draw much of a crowd.

So the arrival of the couple in purple wasn't at all anticipated.

.bdobd.

Spock sank into his shuttle seat and put his head in his hands. "… I feel acute apprehension."

Jim bounded up the aisle towards his friend and threw himself gleefully onto the seat adjacent to him. "Why?"

"That cashier –,"

"Oh, she'll get over it!" Jim waved away Spock's embarrassment with a dramatic flick of the wrist. "It could've been the first time she's seen a human."

"In _that color?_"

Jim huffed. "Are you saying I don't look good in purple?"

"You were not wearing enough of it, I believe, to provoke any real horror."

"Oh, it was a shirt!"

"If your classification requirements are suitably lax, then yes, I suppose that it was."

Spock was still cradling his face in his palms. Jim flopped happily across the exposed back, trying to provoke the Vulcan into looking at him. "It had a collar and sleeve and a hem; what more do you want?"

"It had _only _a collar and sleeves and a hem."

"They were connected!"

"By a piece of fabric –,"

"Humans wear less to the pool!"

"_We were not at a pool. We were in the lobby of a shuttle station_."

"… Close enough. Concrete floors, dirty benches, cavernous ceilings, bad acoustics…"

"The pool itself is absent, however."

"Exactly!" Jim beamed down at the back of Spock's head. "Terrible waste of water; it's horrible to the environment. Anyway, why'd you let me buy it if you were so horrified by it?"

"I had believed that you had only purchased it to torment Dam Kore."

"… And that made it okay?"

"Well at least you were not to _wear it!_"

"Is this seat taken?" A man with a stooped body like an old fish stick gestured slightly to the seat across from the two bickering men.

"Negative," Spock said from between his fingers. He still hadn't looked up. Jim tugged gently on his wrists.

"You look petulant."

Spock glared ineffectively at him from the corner of his eye in between the little space between his middle and index fingers. "I do not."

"… Sorry to say this, but you're not really in any position to judge."

"So, how are you two doing?" The man with the limp chest asked.

Spock and Jim both stared blankly at the man. The man didn't seem to realize that he'd just asked a very normal question to a duo ensconced in a very abnormal conversation already. It had been jarring and strange.

But it had gotten Spock to look up! Jim planted his forearms underneath Spock's chin so that the man had to either sit up completely or be trapped in an odd horizontal serpentine- posture.

Spock sat up, shoving Jim off of him. Jim mewled as he went down, but bounced off of the seat into a squirrel-like crouch. "We're doing well," Jim enthused, trying to draw Spock's mind away from the Lorentian System and onto how strange this thin newcomer was. "We're off to see some 'droid physicians."

"Aaah…" The man took a closer look at Jim, then at Spock. "If this is rude, I do not mean any offense, but which –?"

"I am," Spock declared. "Jim is human."

"As am I," the man nodded sagely. He sat heavily onto the lightly cushioned bench. "I work as a financial analyst."

Jim decided to leave Spock with the analyst. He wasn't going to enjoy this conversation at all, and the android did need some practice in social interactions. Jim slipped into the restroom a few feet away and began to wash some of the more explicit temporary tattoos off of his hands.

"Were you working at such a position during the Meson Corporations bubble?" Jim could hear Spock ask. The sound was a bit muffled, but the words were still perfectly understandable.

The analyst groaned. "Yes, we all were. And we were blamed for it!"

"I had not known of this," Spock stated solemnly. "I was not sentient at the time that event occurred, but I do not recall anyone accusing the analysts of causing or perpetrating the crash."

"That does not mean we were not blamed!" the analyst insisted. "And," his voice dropped slightly, as if there were eavesdroppers hiding underneath the shuttle benches, or something, "I have new evidence to prove it!"

The shuttle lurched like a nauseas toddler. The analyst could be heard to whack his head on something, but continued gamely on. "As I was saying," he continued gamely, "I've found some _very_ intriguing new information about the Meson bubble! It turns out –,"

He started whispering again. "It turns out that Meson _destroyed their own design!_"

"What?" Spock asked blandly. Jim's head flew up and he began to rattle at the door handle to get back to Spock.

"It's true!" The analyst crowed. The shuttle twitched uncomfortably once more before taking off suddenly, and with palpable relief. The analyst whacked a limb on the window; his balance was really screwy. "They _scrapped_ the Sub-Meson brain!"

"That is not true," Spock insisted. "_I _am the Sub-Meson. Or, I was previously. I am now my own person."

"Well, you're not supposed to be," the analyst responded with a shrug. "They definitely ordered the Sub-Meson destroyed." Jim finally got the door to open and speed-walked over to the stunned android.

"That conclusion is flawed. The Sub-Meson was sent to Cambridge, and then to America, and then to Andoria and Vulcan. At any point during the transfer the Meson Corporation would have been informed of the status of the Sub-Meson brain. If such an order was filed –,"

"Here," the analyst shoved a piece of honest-to-god paper into Spock's reluctant grasp. Spock stared at is carefully, Jim peering obtrusively over his shoulder.

"… This document appears official," Spock admitted reluctantly. Jim frowned and took the paper from him gently, making sure not to tear the delicate material.

"Appears? It is! That is the termination order for the Sub-Meson!" The analyst seemed totally oblivious to the distress this was causing Spock, and Jim glared at him to shut up.

"Even if that's true," Jim argued, "it wouldn't have any bearing on a sentient android. That order only applies to a computer, not to a person."

"I never said it didn't," the analyst hurrumphed. Jim resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Hey, Spock, look out the window." The understandably distracted Vulcan had to pause to absorb the request.

"… Oh. We are passing through the ozone layer."

Jim hummed and settled his weight against Spock's side to stare out of the porthole. Going through the ozone was always an event: the purples and blues of the upper atmosphere suddenly giving way to a deep black void as the white layer of air fell beneath the ship's thrusters.

"That is the _Illumine_ dock," Spock murmured, pointing to the dark gray space station that was orbiting above Moscow. The United Earth charter had almost been broken over that station: Russia either did or did not want the station above them for tourism revenue, and the Indians were ready to fight to get a permit to set up retail outlets in the dock.

"As I was saying," the analyst coughed. Jim snarled silently at him and went to jab the man's shin with his foot, but Spock stopped him.

"What does the termination of the Sub-Meson matter to the economy of the Federation?" Spock asked coolly. "Most investors could not have known of this fact; such an even would have been widely reported upon if that were the case."

The analyst grinned like a shark scenting prey. "Because they sold their next prototype to the Romulans to balance their annual reports."

.bdobd.

Jim had dragged Spock to the back of the shuttle and dialed Dam Kore. She didn't want to talk to him.

"I don't want to talk to you," she said stiffly. "Your mission has been discussed in its entirety; you should –,"

"What do you know about the Romulans?" Jim demanded. Spock collapsed lower in his seat and began to stare determinedly out the porthole.

"… What about the Romulans?" Dam Kore asked suspiciously.

"The Sub-Meson, I just talked to a finance guy who said that the Meson Corporation sold a prototype android to the Empire to make their financial statements look good."

"Oh, that." She sounded almost nervous. "The prototype is not sentient. It is not of our concern."

"But you knew about a Federation company selling technological data to the Romulans? And you didn't do anything about it?" Jim hissed, peering carefully at the analyst from the corner of his eye. The financial worker didn't seem at all concerned with Jim's sudden departure. It was disturbing.

"Well, it is not… It is illegal, actually. It is…"

"Illegal," Jim said flatly. "You did _tell_ the Federation about what you knew, right?"

"No, they told me."

"_What?_" Spock had refocused his attention on Jim and was staring silently at the human as he tried not to explode in a shuttlecraft.

Dam Kore sighed in a rush of static. It was a purely emotional gesture – she didn't have to breath, let alone exhale – but it got the point across. "I received a gift in the form of a large donation from the Federation's main governmental office. I contacted the President to tell him of my gratitude, to which he informed me that if I made any mention of the selling of the blueprints in any of our press releases then he would immediately accuse me of taking bribes from the Romulan Empire."

Spock's eyebrows had flown past his bangs and now fluttered delicately just below his hairline. "Illogical."

"Effective," Dam Kore countered.

Jim was gaping at his comm. "He… He made you accept a bribe against your will so that he could say that you accepted a bribe _intentionally_ so that _you_ couldn't complain that Meson Corps sold something to the Romulan Empire?"

"That is essentially what occurred, yes."

Jim practiced his fish impression at the floor while Spock took the comm. "Why did you not request assistance from Starfleet?" Spock asked reasonably. "I believe that they would have been of great help."

"I do not doubt such," Dam Kore answered dryly. "They were not, however, in any position to be of use."

"The entirety of Starfleet would have been of _no_ assistance?"

"I only know one Starfleet officer well enough to consider asking such a favor, and that captain was indisposed. Also, if I had made any motions of discomfort, the Federation would have gone ahead and published the bribery rumor."

"What about the police then?" Jim asked.

"What _about_ the police?" Dam Kore responded pointedly.

Jim thought about it for a few seconds and then shrugged. "Gotcha." Spock blinked with confusion. "I'll explain it to you later," Jim promised. "Dam Kore, does this whole Romulan thing have anything to do with us going to the Lorentian System? I don't want to get caught in another custody battle."

"…" Dam Kore's silence was distinctly disturbing. "… No."

"… Are you _sure?_" Jim asked.

"… Yes?"

"I'm calling Sarek," Jim declared. "By Dam Kore."

"Wait, James –!"

Jim hung up on her and began furiously dialing Sarek. "Why are you contacting my father?"

"If he knows anything, he'll at least tell us the truth about the Lorentian doctors. He won't want you hurt."

"True," Spock nodded.

Jim bounced unhappily on the balls of his feet. "Is it just me, or is that analyst dude creepy?"

"I was more concerned with the utter lack of passengers, excepting the three of us."

Jim took a closer look around the shuttle. Spock was right: the only people on the car were Spock, the fish-analyst, and himself. "That can't be normal."

"I do not believe that he is any particular threat." Jim grunted noncommittally and went back to agonizing over his comm connection.

Sarek _finally _picked up. "James, why are you contacting me?"

"I guess Vulcans don't do small-talk, huh?"

"I do not understand."

"It isn't important. Listen: do you know anything about Meson Corp and a deal with the Romulans?"

"Affirmative."

Jim waited anxiously for Sarek to continue. "… Well?" He demanded impatiently.

"The Sub-Meson was to be destroyed, but the Meson Corporation was bankrupted by the failure of the Meson Brain and the company decided to auction the design of the Sub-Meson off."

"… Did you tell _anyone_ about this?"

"I was told," Sarek explained to an indignant human and a gently gaping android, "by T'Pol. She worked for the Meson Corporation, designing the Meson Brain. When that design failed, she was given excutive control over the plans for the Sub-Meson."

"Is that why she was so pissy when I was talking to her about Spock?"

"What are you talking about?" Spock asked, clearly surprised. "I only knew that she was angry at you, not that I was actually involved."

"I'll explain later," Jim promised. Spock made an unconvinced noise.

"Indeed," Sarek answered. "Her reactions to the news that the Sub-Meson – now Spock – was not sold were… extreme. Such is, of course, not entirely her fault."

"… Any particular reason why?" Getting information out of the man was trying to argue with a chicken: no one really won and everyone wound up sounding silly.

"Yes. She was poisoned by Meson Corporations."

"What?"

"They convinced her to ingest a product that had the growth hormone used on the model bodies for shells hidden within it." Jim took a moment to dissect all of the clauses. "This was done immediately after she protested the auction of the Sub-Meson."

"Wouldn't such a dosage cause cancer instead of mental collapse?" Spock wondered blandly.

"Such was the apparent prediction of the Meson Corporations," Sarek said with a shrug that could actually be _heard_. "It did not result in such, however."

"Clearly," Spock murmured.

"Why were you asking about the Romulan deals?" Sarek asked.

"Oh, we heard about them from a random dude on the shuttle, and Dam Kore confirmed it."

"She is considered the expert on the topic, yes. Did you know that she was captured by Starfleet in the company of the Sub-Meson?"

"_What?_" Jim and Spock cried in unison. "NO, I didn't," Jim continued. Spock's eyes had gone seal-huge, and was flaring his nostrils in agitation.

"Yes," Sarek's tone was jarringly conversational, "she, a model of a make similar to hers, and the Sub-Meson were taken from the private collection of a corrupt Starfleet official. The Sub-Meson was sent to Cambridge on Earth for storage."

Jim was spluttering mightily. "Why – why didn't she _say _anything?"

"It is rather strange," Spock said weakly, "that she did not seem to recognize my binary signature in my electronic communications with her."

"I cannot be depended upon to explain the illogical actions of others," Sarek disclaimed with another verbal shrug. "Is that all you wished to know?"

"Wait," Spock interrupted. "When I last saw you, you mentioned a genetic defect that you were pleased had not manifested itself in any noticeable manner. Was the defect the destruction process?"

"Not exactly: T'Pol knew of the Sub-Meson's impending destruction, and she herself attempted to defile your programming as much as possible. She was already beginning to show the effects of the hormone poisoning, we believe. I was surprised that you were sane: I expected you to be much more dangerously emotive. T'Pol was an exemplary programmer."

Spock turned pale seemed to receed into himself. "Thanks Sarek," Jim said thickly, keeping a close eye on the obviously disturbed android, "we'll call you back if we need anything else."

"Very well."

They cut the connection at the same time. Jim turned to Spock and was about to comment on something stupid, or ask him if he was alright, or _something_, when the shuttle conductor announced their imminent docking, and that they needed to sit down and buckle up.

.bdobd.


	13. Distress

A/N: REWRITTEN! Sybok's been re-characterized, and the entire back half of the chapter's been shuffled about. Though I do now have a beta (sexy_jess, who is to be bowed to at earliest convenience), this hasn't been beta-read, because I really just want to slap this up and be done with it. The next chapter is being betaed, though.

T'Khut is either Vulcan's moon or its sister planet, depending on who you believe.

.bdobd.

The Lorentian dock was built in the classic style of all airports. Long-distance travel has been recognized as one of the most stressful things any sensible person can undertake – insensible people being disturbed by more bizarre things, like fish tanks and sponges.

Airport designers, knowing this, made the distinct effort to make their creations as discomforting, confusing, and jarring as possible. Arrows directed people across fields, towards bits of plumbing, and through walls. Walls were painted in a variety of garish and migraine-inducing colors. Entire hallways smelled like dying animals.

Jim and Spock exited the shuttle. Spock stiffened, smelled the air again, and turned an odd shade of reddish-yellow.

"… Is that your way of turning green?" Jim asked.

"I am already –,"

"I mean sick-green. Ill-green."

"Yes."

"Oh." Jim peered around the thoroughly horrible dock. "… I can see why."

"That is not at all comforting."

"Would lying be better?"

"… Do you have any baggage to collect?"

"Nope." Jim patted his carry-on. "All in here. We're only here for a couple days, anyway." The fish-analyst scuttled past them. They stared awkwardly at his retreating figure.

"… Is it just me, or is he weird?"

"He is a singularly odd creature."

"Good. I'm not crazy." They stared at the man for a little while longer. "Who're we meeting again?"

Spock cocked his head to check his email. "A man named… Sybok."

"Sybok?" Jim looked around the platform. "Do we know what he looks like?"

"…" Spock's silence sounded awkward.

"_Ye-es?_"

"… A 'bear'. It is in quotation marks."

"… Oh." Jim blushed on Spock's behalf.

"What is a 'bear'? Is it different than a bear?" Spock asked innocently.

Jim felt himself turning stop-sign red. "… It's… a, um… sexual reference…"

"Oh. Does this man practice bestiality?"

"I would say not." sounded a bemused voice from off to the left. Jim and Spock turned to see a very odd man. He was round, and tall, and covered with hair, but at the same time did not at all look like Santa Clause, which must have been quite difficult to pull off. Instead, the loud person looked like the bastard offspring of a large rodent – say, a capybara, or a really _huge_ hamster – and a sentient teapot. Loud, round, fuzzy, and hot under the collar.

"Is that what they told you I was?" The hairy teapot man's eyebrows quivered slightly. "A _bestialitist?_"

"… I am not sure that 'bestialitist' is a word," Spock pointed out after a very long beat.

The man rolled his eyes. "I should certainly_ hope_ not." Jim battled with a grin and won. The man crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows that, Jim was surprised to note, were pointed like Spock's. Was this guy a _Vulcan?_

"Well?" the man (who could only be Sybok; now that Jim thought about it the name was pretty classic Vulcan ridiculousness) asked impatiently.

Spock blinked politely at Sybok. "Are you _coming?_" Sybok demanded with slight ennui.

"Who are you?" Spock questioned back. Jim could see the tension building already; these two were _not_ going to be getting along well at _all_.

"You do not recognize your own _brother?_" Sybok asked with horror. Jim's jaw dropped and Spock's eyes went spoon-sized.

"What?" Jim asked. "Who said anything about a _brother?_ We just need our contact so we can get to the labs!"

"Right." Sybok spoke slowly, as if he was talking to two three year olds. "And Dam Kore sent _me_ because I am also a Meson Brain. She would not just send some random person, yes?"

Jim and Spock looked at each other, quietly agreeing that that was _exactly_ the sort of thing that Dam Kore would do. Sybok saw the look and gawped. "She did not tell you who I was?"

Spock shook his head silently. Sybok looked hurt. "But… That makes no sense."

"I do not know her reasoning."

Sybok frowned. "This is very strange. I do not understand this. Why would Dam Kore send the sub-Meson to meet the Meson without telling the Meson?"

"Excuse me?" Jim said, very politely, he thought.

Sybok turned from Spock to him. "… Who's the short one?"

"This is Jim," Spock gestured quietly to the human, who was squirming uncomfortably in the spotlight. "He is who made me sentient after the Meson Corporation attempted to shut me down."

"Ah," Sybok nodded knowledgably. "To me, the V'tosh Ka'tur were healers. The Corporation just shut you off; they sent me to the deserts of T'Khut to die."

Jim blinked at the man. "That's a bit extreme, isn't it? Even for the Meson."

"The Meson?" Sybok looked at him oddly. "I am not the Meson. I am the Sub-Meson, the one that T'Pol messed with until I was useless. _Spock_ is the Meson. He is the pure-planned one."

Spock's mouth dropped open, just a little bit. "… _You_ are the Sub-Meson?"

"Yes." Sybok seemed annoyed. "You are able to control your irritation, yes? Does it look like I have the ability to do that?"

"No," Spock said honestly. Jim flinched. "That means that T'Pol did nothing to me to alter my coding, yes?"

"That is what I just_ said_!" Sybok snapped. "Once the company realized what she had done, they wanted to be rid of me. They shipped me to Vulcan's sister-moon to die. I was found by the V'tosh Ka'tur and healed."

"… What're the V'tosh Ka'tur?" Jim asked, feeling stupid.

"Vulcans without logic," Spock murmured. "They are seen as an inferior class of people."

"Oh." Jim turned to Sybok carefully. "So, that means that you've been active for a while, then?"

"Yes."

Jim smiled slightly, trying to appease the huge Vulcan. "Well, Spock's been sentient for a little over a week. Is there –?"

"A _week?_" Sybok's eyes bulged slightly. "You are naught but a _child!_" Spock stiffened, offended, but Sybok didn't seem to notice. "Oh, this_ is_ interesting." Sybok spun about and began to march off towards the station's exit. Jim and Spock jogged to catch up to him.

"– so much to _teach!_" Sybok was orating to himself. "This is a very different thing that I had envisioned; I do not know_ why_ Dam Kore thought to have you examined before you've been taught. I know." Sybok stopped short right in front of the terminal's door, causing Jim to crash straight into his enormous back. Sybok didn't seem to notice. "I shall teach you."

"I must be at the laboratories in two hours–," Spock started.

"I will cancel for you," Sybok stated arrogantly. "You will _learn_ instead. Come, there is much to discuss."

.bdobd.

Sybok had whisked them away to the hotel where he was staying, managing to talk the _entire way_ to the rented apartment. Once there, he'd given Jim an adjoining bedroom and dragged Spock into the living room, where they'd stayed for the rest of the day and most of the night.

They had to leave Sybok at the hotel when they went to the labs, but Spock was babbling about him the whole trip. "– and then if you simply_ turn the other way_," the hybrid nattered, "you have the remarkable ability to run _over sand!_"

Jim unsuccessfully smothered a grin. "I'm so glad you met him. He seems like a really nice guy."

"He is," Spock declared with a nod. "I, too, find his presence acceptable. Did you know that he was made temporary leader of the V'tosh Ka'tur clan? He had to give up that position when he went to work for Dam Kore, of course, but –,"

The bus stopped in front of the research center. Spock continued to talk as they got off of the bus and went through security, but clammed up when they found themselves standing outside of the 'Investigative Sciences' department.

The android looked worriedly up at the ominously worded sign. It was the first time since he'd left Earth that he'd looked so scared.

Jim set his jaw and began to drag Spock in the opposite direction. Spock stumbled slightly behind him. "Jim, I have to –,"

"Fuck 'em," Jim snarled. "They don't get you."

"Jim, I do not believe this is wise. They have my electronic signature on record, they may simply scan for –," Jim shoved the hybrid into a handy lift.

"They can't scan the security section, right?"

"Or communications; such a signal would scramble any incoming messages; but I do not see how this is relevant to our –,"

The lift stopped opened on an aggressively gray hallway. Jim grabbed one of Spock's arms and pulled him towards a door. "Jim, I really must protest to this treatment," Spock mewled. "I do not understand your sudden distress; this –,"

Jim pushed Spock into the room. "Oh." The Vulcan blinked at the screens and stations that lined the walls. "This is part of the communications section."

Jim locked the door behind them. "They can't get you in here."

Spock looked at him oddly. "This must be extremely illegal."

"I expect that it is." The blonde plopped into a handy chair and began to spin slightly.

"But…" Spock looked around helplessly, then reached for a chair opposite Jim. He stared at his hands. "I do not…"

"They don't get you," Jim said simply. Spock looked up to at the declaration.

"… I still do not understand."

"You're sentient, aren't you? They don't get to take you away like that."

"… Such as you just did? I am late, Jim, they will be searching for me."

Jim shifted at the reference to his low-tech kidnapping of the android. He tried find the words to express his anger, his protectiveness, his fear at what would happen to Spock if he saw how horrible life could be, and how Spock was, in some strange way, his. He couldn't find them, and settled for repeating, "They don't get you."

Spock rubbed his forehead gently. "Jim. They already have me. They have all of my programming. They have my daily schedule. They have the building plans. They will find me and there is nothing that can be done about that."

"But you're _sentient_ –,"

"Which means that I, just like every other being, must sometimes do things I do not wish to. This is one of those times."

"Did Sybok tell you that?" Jim sneered cruelly.

"_No._" Spock set his jaw. "It is a simple observation. People must do what they do not want to in order to obtain what they need. I _need_ to appease Dam Kore, or I will be rendered impotent. I cannot live without her support. I do not wish to –,"

"Then you shouldn't _have_ to –!"

"_But I do._" Spock was now openly glaring at the totally miserable human. "I _must_ undergo these tests. Most probably, the operations will be simple and fast. You are making a large scene because of a series of events that you _cannot _control and that have _nothing_ to do with you." Jim flinched. "I am independent. If you are unable to accept this, then such is your problem, not mine."

Spock stood. "I am leaving. You may follow if you wish, but you will not convince me to commit such nonsense again. Do you understand? You do not make decisions of this magnitude for me."

Jim nodded miserably. "… I'm sorry," he rasped.

"I know," Spock said simply. "That is no excuse."

Spock unlocked the door and walked back to the lift. Jim heard the doors of the lift close.

He had the feeling that Spock wasn't going to come back again.

.bdobd.

Jim didn't quite know what to do with himself. Spock was gone. The android had left him totally alone in an empty room in a building that was filled with people that didn't want anything to do with him.

He really didn't want to go downstairs, though, and risk running into the rightfully furious hybrid. Jim had done something genuinely stupid, and Spock had every right to be indignant. Jim had no authority to decide how Spock handled Dam Kore or Sybok or anything; Spock was his own.

It hurt to think that, though. Jim hadn't realized how much he had thought of Spock as _his._ No matter how much he argued with himself, he still felt as if something that _belonged_ to him had just _abandoned_ him.

It wasn't at all fun. Instead of doing something proactive or useful, which would've required thinking, Jim settled for fiddling with the channel frequencies, trying to pick up something interesting on another line.

He heard the door open after about half an hour. "Sorry," he said without looking, "I'll clear out."

"There is no need," Spock said quietly. Jim's eyes widened, and he swiveled around excitedly.

"_Spock!_ What – Holy shit, what _happened?_" Spock looked awful. Not hurt, just completely depressed and, suddenly, very sad. "What did they do to you?" Jim demanded.

"Nothing," Spock shrugged. Jim ached at the familiar motion. "I have not yet even completed the forms necessary to be admitted into the laboratories."

"But you look terrible," Jim said, gently confused. "What's wrong?"

"… I need to request some information of you."

"What? Anything, you know that. What is it?"

Spock swallowed and knit his hands behind his back. He looked extremely uncomfortable. "… Am I in a romantic relationship with anyone?"

Jim felt his jaw drop distantly. He felt like he'd just been walloped behind the knees. "I–," he squeaked. "I – I think that's something that you'd know better than me."

"But yet, I do not." Spock was _peering_ at him. "When I asked the receptionist to clarify, she told me that a romantic relationship is characterized by the reluctance on the part of either party to allow the other person to be injured. Also, she mentioned that such a drive can sometimes result in unintentionally self-inflicted harm."

Jim blinked at him, momentarily stunned out of his daze. "… She said all of that?"

"No, I am paraphrasing. What she said was, 'it's when two people (or I guess more, for some people, but that's not really _nor-mal_) when two people are so… _connected_, I guess is the word, that they'll do _anything_ for each other, even if they hurt themselves in the process.'"

Jim felt the totally inappropriate urge to laugh at the straight-faced recital of the babblings of a dim secretary. "… I… Well, it's that a few other things."

"She did mention the urge to 'get under someone's skin', but I assumed that to be a sexual reference."

"… Not quite, actually; that's 'get into someone's pants'."

"Oh." They stared at each other for a while. Jim felt himself blush. "What else is it then?"

Jim suddenly _got_ how much power he had over Spock. If he lied to Spock, right now, Spock would believe him without question. He could tell the android anything.

He could make it so that Spock never left again.

Jim was hit with a wave of self-loathing that left him shaking. He couldn't believe that he'd just… He'd known Spock for what, ten days? Eleven? And here he was already thinking about how to ruin the man's life forever.

"I can't tell you," Jim said quietly. "I just can't. It's different for every person. What I think is love may not be the same as yours, and without taking that into account you'll be left with a bad definition. It's more than a friendship and… different than a family bond. It doesn't _necessarily_ have anything to do with sex."

Jim shrugged one shoulder. "That's all I've got for you. The rest you have to decide on your own."

Spock looked contemplative and nodded slowly. "… I understand. Thank you for being so honest with me, Jim. It is appreciated."

Jim felt his throat shut down. "Yeah," he rasped, "no problem." _You don't know how close I came_.

"I will now be leaving," Spock bowed. "It would probably be best if you did not remain here for much longer: I overheard several security personnel speaking of an irregularity in the communications sector." The android turned to exit again.

The door burst open before he could get to it. There were two _furious_ security guards puffing at them. "What," one growled, "do you think you're doing?"

Spock blinked innocently at the man. "Sending a message. Is that illegal?" Jim reached carefully behind himself to clear the channel that he'd been messing with.

"It is now," the other guard hissed, and shouldered a stun gun that was _much_ bigger than it needed to be. Jim managed to hide the frequency in a document file – it was being stubborn and wouldn't be deleted – before he raised his hands.

"Compensating for something, are we?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

The man with the gun started and stared blankly at his weapon. He obviously wasn't used to being verbally abused by someone while he was pointing a gun at his/her head. "… No?"

Jim snorted and leaned back condescendingly in his chair. "You sure?"

The man blinked dumbly down at the gun again. He really was quite stupid. His partner seemed to realize this for the first time, and looked disgusted. "He's fuckin' with you," he said flatly. "Shoot him."

The gunman looked up, simpering at his partner. "I'm _not_ compensating, am I?"

The unarmed guard wrinkled his nose. "How the fucking hell would I know? Blow his ass."

"You know you want to," Jim leered, covering for Spock, who was creeping along the wall towards them. Both guards flushed and gave him the middle finger.

"Now now," Jim tsked, "one at a time."

Gunman spluttered. "Now look here you: I don't want to hurt you, but," he puffed up his chest, "if you don't shut up I'll be forced to shoot!"

Jim raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said you didn't want to hurt me?"

Unarmed nodded sagely. "Have to shoot. No question."

"But you _just said_ that you _didn't_ want to shoot me!"

"Well, it's not easy being a guard!" Gunman huffed. Spock froze and stared back at Jim with disbelieving eyes.

"Well, look here," Jim argued, "we all have our issues. I think if you could avoid laying on _your_ problems as well, we'd all find it a little easier to cope!"

"Now see here," Gunman lowered his gun, nozzle first, to the floor, and used it to prop his hip onto, "you're not dealing with some dim witted, doughnut eating, piggy eyed guards with no intelligence and a low hairline!"

Spock hadn't started up again since he'd stopped. Jim had a feeling that he was too stunned to move. "You're dealing," Gunman continued, "with a couple of caring, sympathetic guys who you'd probably quite like if you met us socially!"

"And I write novels!" Unarmed chimed in. "But I haven't had any of them published yet, so I'm warning you I'm in a _meeeaaan_ mood!"

Spock turned around to stare at Jim again. _Who_ are_ these guys?_ he asked silently.

_Dunno. I liked it better when they were threatening us._

"Now: are you going to come quietly," Gunman said, "or are we going to have to blast you out?"

"Which would you prefer?" Jim asked sarcastically.

Gunman swept his gun up into proper shooting position and shot. Jim had dropped to the floor the second he'd finished his response, so he was not, praise a deity, hit. And since he was under the consol, the guards couldn't get to him, either.

"I didn't enjoy that at all!" Gunman shouted.

"I could tell!" Jim hollered back.

"Now you listen here, whoever you are," Unarmed said loudly. "We –,"

There were two thick thumps. Spock's feet appeared next to Jim's head.

Jim stuck his head out from under the monitor and peered over at the doorway. Two rotund guards were lying flat on their backs on the threshold. Jim looked up at Spock with a grin. "Was it Sarek that taught you the Vulcan Neck Pinch, or Sybok?"

"Both." Spock grabbed Jim's wrist and hauled him upright. "It seems to be a right of passage."

Spock stared past Jim at something on the monitor. The file with the frequency in it was flickering urgently "… Is that an incoming message?" he asked.

Jim swiveled around, relieved by the excuse to not have to look at Spock. "… Yeah," he murmured, leaning closer to the screen, "it is." He opened the channel again. "It's all choppy though."

"I will retrieve a communications officer." Spock's footsteps rang out on the linoleum floor.

"Don't bother, I got this." Jim twisted the frequency dials a bit and began mouthing probabilities under his breath. The footsteps stopped.

"That is an irrational statement. Vulcan outgoing transmissions are encoded. Their ciphers are all but unbreakable. You –,"

"I'm good with probabilities." Jim switched to a different channel and tried to reroute the message through a different static filter. "And that's all code-breaking is: probability analysis, with a bit of intuition thrown in. If it's been ciphered, then I can break it."

Spock didn't bother with an answer. His footsteps started up again. Jim set his jaw and continued working.

The door was opening when he broke the code. A triumphant grin spread across his face, only to be quickly retracted as he realized what the message was.

A distress call. From Vulcan.

"– a drill," the monitor squawked. The message was thick and syrupy with static; it was hard to hear individual words. "The ship that has lowered the drill does not fit any of our records. Repeat: Starfleet personnel from Vulcan High Council: there is an attack being carried out against the planet. There is a high-energy beam being shot through the planet's crust by a drill. The ship that has lowered the drill does not fit any of our records. Repeat: Starfleet personnel from,"

Jim looked over to Spock. The Vulcan was standing stock-still in the doorway, staring at the consol speakers with obvious, growing horror. "Vulcan High Council: there is an attack,"

"What is there to do?" Spock rasped.

Jim glared at the consol. "– being carried out against the planet. There is,"

"We'll send it to Pike. He'll know what to do."

"– a high energy beam being shot through the planet's crust,"

Jim began tapping in comm numbers as fast as he could, trying to get the message to as many Starfleet officers as he could. If the message was this garbled at the Lorentian System, by the time it actually reached Earth it'd be totally unintelligible. "– by a drill. The ship that has lowered the drill does not fit any of our records."

Spock came over and began knocking down the system's firewalls one by one, letting the message bypass dozens of security scans and be sent faster.

It took them a good three minutes to get the audio to Pike, and an additional two to force the tape through to the rest of Jim's contact list. Spock, in a moment of genius, thought to send the message back to his father, so that the High Council would know that someone at a comms station had understood the audio.

They spent another thirty seconds panting, staring at the monitor and watching the message's electronic signature be played out on screen. _Dip_ two hop and _big_ jump there, repeat pattern then _sink_ an octave and –

Another message popped onto the window. Jim pounced on the keyboard and ran it through the same filter he'd made for the distress call.

It was an audio/visual file. An angry android's face filled the screen. He was clearly supposed to be Vulcan or Romulan, but the synthetic skin on one side of his face had been torn away roughly, revealing glittering circuitry.

"I am Nero," the man shouted, "and Vulcan will fall because of me!"

.bdobd.


	14. Confrontation

A/N: There'll probably be one or two more chapters after this one; it's really close to being done.

To CC a message is to send a 'carbon copy' to another person. It's a common option for emails. When you CC, you hold a kind of written conference call.

.bdobd.

Spock's ears were flattened against his head, something he hadn't done since he was in box-form. He all but hissed at the crazed android on the screen. Jim blinked up at him.

"What's wrong? He can't get to you."

"He is not sane," Spock muttered. "He is dangerous."

Jim had paused the video after the Romulan's first screech so he could get his feet under him again, and now stared at the torn wiring that was revealed by Nero's ruined skin. "… I'm not arguing with you. Should I let it play?"

"Has it been sent to Starfleet?"

"Yeah, it was CC'ed there by the original sender." Jim pressed 'play' and the frozen snarl moved again.

"I am the _true_ creation of Meson Corporation!" Nero roared unnecessarily loudly. "_I_ was the one made after the first Meson brain _failed!_" Jim's jaw was sitting politely on his knees. While Spock's dropped with a slight popping noise. "The_ imposter_, Sybok, is the _second_ Sub-Meson! I am the first and only!"

Jim slapped the 'pause' button again and spun around to stare at Spock's absolutely stunned face. "Did you know _anything_ –?"

"_No_." Spock was blinking widely at the consol. "Sybok clearly thinks of himself as the Sub-Meson. Either he was not told of this 'Nero' model, or he has put it entirely from his mind."

"Alright…" Jim swiveled back to the keyboard and tapped 'play' again.

"I was made miserable!" Nero roared. "I –,"

Nero became a bit repetitive at this point, and Spock leaned down to whisper in Jim's ear. "Does he realize," Spock murmured, "that there is a volume control dial on our end of the connection?"

Jim gasped with shocked laughter and whacked Spock lightly on the side of the head. Nero seemed to find his thread again. " – so it is _their_ fault," he continued, "that I became suicidal!"

Jim just _knew _that Spock's eyebrows had leapt. "Did you not state that Meson is known for manufacturing faulty emotive chips?"

Jim nodded. "Known for it. Their computers, especially."

Nero gnashed a bit. "I felt I had escaped all torment," he growled, "so imagine my surprise when I was brought back to this universe!"

"What?" Jim cried.

"I know what happened to me," Nero growled. "Meson Corporations, you will die at the appropriate time. But Vulcan," Nero grinned nastily, "you will be destroyed. Your people are the ones that programmed me. You shall pay for your incompetence!"

Nero signed off with a dramatic flourish. "Oh," Jim mewled. "_T'Pol._ She got angry and –,"

"Destroyed the Sub-Meson lines' programming," Spock finished grimly. "It was assumed that there was only one Sub-Meson. She must have scrambled the coding of two individuals."

"But how'd he get _back_?" Jim asked the screen. "That shouldn't be _possible_. What happens stays happened, that's the only way the universe can work!"

Spock's grip on the back of Jim's chair tightened, deforming the metal. "… Unless," he rasped, "there is a sufficient amount of improbability in the area."

Jim's eyes widened. "When you rewound the universe –,"

"I must have destroyed the flow of time around Nero's death site." Spock sounded ill. "I brought him back."

Jim tried to swivel, but Spock's grip was too solid. Jim scooted ungracefully over the arm of the chair to face the android.

Spock looked absolutely awful. The shock had drained all of the pigment from his skin, and he was swaying like his knees had been removed. He looked very, very mechanical all of a sudden, and very, very badly put together.

Jim wrapped his arms around his waist. "We'll figure it out," he promised into Spock's sleeve. Spock whined painfully, gears that did not exist grinding in his chest. "_Really_, we will. Can you do anything to slow Nero down?"

"I…" Spock wasn't breathing. He didn't need to, of course, but usually his chest moved in solidarity with those that did. "I don't… _yes_."

Jim perked up. "What?"

"Nero is on the same frequency as my brother and I, he must be." Spock broke Jim's hold and began pacing around the room. "I should be able to send Nero a message to –,"

"He's not going to stop if you ask him to; you've got to know that."

Spock stopped pacing and stared down at a consol, eyes vacant with concentration. "… Yes. But I can send him a virus."

Jim blinked sharply. "You _can?_ Isn't that, I dunno, –,"

"It is the android equivalent of a mugging," Spock interrupted simply. "It is not done."

"… I'd do it now." Jim leaned against his now-totaled chair and stuck his thumbs in his pockets. "If that counts for anything, that is."

"It does," Spock nodded. His eyes slid shut slowly.

They opened about a minute later. "It is done," he said quietly. "Nero is, for the moment, unable to move or speak. The effects are only temporary, however. Is it possible to contact Meson Corporations?"

"Yeah, no problem." Jim curled over the keyboard and tapped in one of Meson's comm numbers that Sybok had asked him to memorize. "Why?"

"There is, for every machine, a final self-destruct sequence." Spock moved to peer over Jim's shoulder. "For androids, it is called a terminal code. Meson should have it on record."

A secretary put Jim through to emergency services, who had him hold. "How do you plan on getting the code _into_ Nero?" Jim asked, staring at the screen. "He's not gonna trust your brain-mail after the virus."

"He will trust Dam Kore's account, however. I am certain that if I send the file to her and explain the situation, she will forward the message to Nero." Jim nodded in agreement. Dam Kore wasn't intentionally evil.

Meson's emergency services department turned out to be one of its head programmers. "Yes?" the man asked tightly. "There's a bit of a situation going on here; if we could make this quick then –,"

"Nero and Vulcan and Meson and the Meson brain, I know," Jim interrupted sharply. "I'm here with the sentient Meson Brain named Spock, who's willing to send Nero's – Sub-Meson 1, I guess – terminal code for you. What's Nero's final shutdown sequence?"

The programmer blinked at Jim. "The Meson Brain is _functional?_"

Spock moved into the man's view. "Am I supposed to be?"

The man gawked at him. "I – you – Well _yeah._ Actually, that's why we sent your brain and your body to separate places!"

"What do you mean?" Jim asked.

"The Meson and Sub-Meson brains were all failures – financially, financially!" the man amended at Jim's snarl. "We sent them off to various spots so that they'd never bother us again. Nero went ahead and committed suicide in space – unfortunately, he managed to take down a Starfleet ship while doing it; something called the _Kelvin_. Sub-Meson 2 –,"

"Sybok," Spock supplied.

"Yes, him, he was sent to Vulcan's sister-moon T'Khut. No one quite knows how he managed to survive. And_ you_," the programmer peered at Spock, "_your_ brain and your body were sent to two entirely different continents! We gave your brain to Cambridge to fuss with, and sent your body over to Dam Kore's group to be stored. However did you get a hold of it?"

"We asked," Jim responded weakly.

The man nodded ruefully after a beat. "I guess that'd work, huh? We didn't want to _tell_ her what the body was _for_, you see, just in case she got herself worked up and went off to find the brain to put you," he pointed to Spock, "back together again. _That_ sure backfired. How did you," he gestured to Jim, "manage to convince him to take a body in the first place?"

"… What do you mean?" Jim asked, confused. "He asked for one."

Except, Jim thought, that wasn't quite right. Spock had asked for _eyes_. He hadn't asked for a _body_. That had been Jim's idea.

"That isn't possible," the programmer said dubiously. "We made _sure_ that he – Waitaminnut." The man leaned forward. "We programmed him so that his _eternal_ Prime Directive would be to bond with another person. He shouldn't have _wanted_ a body."

"That _has_ to be illegal!" Jim spluttered.

"No," the programmer said. "Making a _slave_ is illegal. We made someone who wanted companionship over his own needs. _That_ is legal."

"That is so _totally_ splitting hairs!" Jim steamed.

The man shrugged. "Nobody seemed to mind."

"Did you _tell_ anyone?" Spock deadpanned. He was taking this all much better than Jim was.

"Well no," the man grinned. "Then they would've minded."

.bdobd.

The programmer had handed Nero's terminal code over to Spock amiably, and wished the two of them the best of luck. As Nero had threatened to destroy Meson Corps after Vulcan, no one at the corporation was sad to see him go.

Jim had had to leave the room and sit in the hallway to cool down after the man had told them about Spock's 'eternal Prime Directive'. Spock poked his head out of the room tentatively.

"… Jim? Are you well?"

Jim sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "… Is Vulcan –?"

"Starfleet has gathered its forces and is flying towards it. I have contacted Dam Kore with information regarding the terminal code. There is naught to do but wait." Spock shuffled carefully over to Jim. "… Are you angry at me?" he asked mournfully.

"… No," Jim sighed. "No, I'm not. I'm just…" He exhaled shakily. "I don't know what to think about you." Spock flinched. "I just… I _want_ – I really _want_ to think that you're _more_ than a – a _machine_, but… I mean, if they can program who you _love_ than they can make you do whatever –,"

Spock slapped him across the face, sending him a good two feet down the hall. "After _all _of this?" The Vulcan snarled. "After what you have seen of me? After what I have done for you? You _still_ find me a _computer?_"

Jim was propped up on one elbow, holding his jaw with one hand. He stared at Spock with genuine horror, remembering too late how dangerous T'Pol had been when she was riled, and how weak Jim was compared to the android. He scuttled back down the hall.

"Spock…? Can we – could you calm down a bit? Please?"

Spock was shaking, literally shaking where he stood. He seemed to have lost all reason. "You – after all of this you _still _find me lacking? I've done everything I _can_; I do not think I can –,"

"Spock, _please_, you've gotta listen to me," Jim begged. "I know you're upset but you have to calm down. There's no way the guards – the building's under _surveillance_; I don't know what they'll –,"

"You will survive," Spock moaned. "You always survive. I cannot."

Jim's fear of Spock was fading under his concern that the man was going totally crazy. "… Spock?" he asked carefully. "Are you – stupid question. Are you _going _to be alright?"

Spock dug his palms into his forehead and whined. Jim winced at the sound: it was high-pitched and metallic and totally alien. He stood slowly and moved carefully towards the miserable android.

"… Spock?" he asked again. "What's going on with you? I've never seen you like this –,"

Jim's voice died as he took in the raised skin that ran down Spock's neck. Androids had veins like organics, but they carried electrical charges instead of blood. Spock was straining to get power to something in his mind, maybe fight off –

Fight off something like an infection. Something like a _virus._

"Spock." Jim stood straight and wrapped his hands around Spock's wrists. "This is Jim. You've been infected with some kind of virus. You've got to calm down and –,"

Spock didn't look like he'd heard Jim. The blonde frowned, paled, and changed tactics.

"Spock, this is – this is your –," Jim's voice broke. "This is your _creator_ speaking." Spock's eyes opened dully. "Spock," Jim rasped. "I'm sorry babe, you've got to fight this." No response. "Spock – Spock please don't make me order you. C'mon, we're _better_ than this."

No response. Spock's wrists were starting to shake and the veins on the undersides of his arms were standing out. "This is your creator. I – I need you to abort any programs opened in the past five minutes." An ear twitched, which was better than no sign at all. "You've been infected with some sort of virus; you need to abort the foreign program."

The whining sound came again. Jim was hit with a terrible wave of helplessness. "Come _on_ Spock," he muttered, resting his head against Spock's skull. "You can do this. Come on, babe."

There was no movement for a good thirty seconds. Then Spock's eyes flew back, his spine snapped straight, and he collapsed in a dead heat. Jim tried to wedge his hand in between Spock's head and the floor and got a few bruised fingers for the trouble. He always seemed to forget that the android had a metal skeleton.

"I appreciate the sentiment, however," Spock rasped from his spot on the floor. Jim gaped at him for a moment. Spock stared pleasantly back at him with raised eyebrows. "You would be an excellent coach, I believe," Spock said conversationally, still draped awkwardly across Jim's knees. "You give very good inspirational speeches."

Jim mouthed nonsense to himself for another few seconds before letting out a triumphant whoop and wrapping himself around Spock's shoulders. It was uncomfortable because of their relative positions, and Jim couldn't've cared less.

"You're _alive_."

"Not really."

"… Stop being reasonable and hug me back, you fucker."

Spock acquiesced without a fuss. "How did you know what was happening?" he asked.

"I didn't. I guessed and hoped I was right."

"… Then congratulations are in order."

Jim laughed slightly hysterically. "I'm so glad you're _back_."

"Indeed," Spock hummed. "Now, if you would be so kind as to remove yourself from my –," Jim leapt up, blushing, "– person, I would be most obliged."

Spock took the offer of Jim's wrist and pulled himself to his feet. "That was most unpleasant. Were you harmed? I apologize for –,"

"I agree; no I wasn't; it's not your fault so don't worry," Jim beamed. His brow furrowed and he sobered quickly. "Who sent you the virus, anyway?"

"My brother." Spock looked concerned.

"Do you know where he is now?"

"Negative. I believed him to be back at the apartment, but –,"

A strangely familiar voice came over the loudspeakers. "Attention all personnel," it rasped. "I have possession of one 'Sybok', and I won't be giving him up – _alive_ – until I have a private meeting with Spock." Spock's eyes widened and Jim's jaw locked. Nero. He must have landed while Spock was having his – damn it, he must've ordered Sybok to send that virus! And now he was holding the man hostage.

Nero's tone turned creepily intimate. "Spock," he crooned, "I'm in the security department on floor six." The voice hardened again. "I expect you in three minutes. You don't even want to know what happens if you're _late_."

Nero signed off of the PA with a click. Jim turned to Spock, who looked shaken. "What're you going to do?"

"… I have little choice," Spock said quietly. "I must go."

Jim nodded; it was the response he'd expected. "I'm coming with you."

Spock looked at him sharply. "Nero requested a private meeting –,"

"That man killed my father, Spock," Jim bit out. "I'm _coming._"

"He did _what?_"

"He took down the _Kelvin_; didn't you hear the emergency services guy? George Kirk was one of the _six people_ on ship who died during the attack on the _Kelvin_."

"… Oh. You are _that_ –,"

"_Yes_ I'm _that_ Jim Kirk!" Jim shouted. "Now come on. We have less than two minutes left." Jim stole a phaser from one of the unconscious security guards who still littered the hallway and took off.

Spock ran to catch up to Jim as he sped towards the turbolift.

.bdobd.

Spock nabbed a phaser from the security stash using what Jim could only assume were nefarious means.

Spock came out of the armory frowning. "There were very few weapons left," the android explained at Jim's worried look. "Several people entered the room before I did."

Jim's lips twitched into a frown. "You think Nero brought guards?"

"It is probable."

Jim swore and peered carefully down the hallway. "Alright," he said quietly. "I don't know which of these doors he's behind, but he's definitely on this floor. Keep behind me –," Spock made to argue, "keep _behind_ me because I've had firearms training and you _haven't_ dammit!" he hissed. "I was in Fleet Academy for two years; I know what the fuck I'm doing."

Spock made an unhappy face but didn't fight it. "If you see an opening, shoot, but let me do most of the firing because neither of us know how good your aim is. Agreed?"

"… Yes." Spock sounded reluctant but resigned to his fate. He trailed Jim obediently when he set off down the hallway.

After three high-stress door bustings which resulted in exactly nothing productive, Spock leaned in to make a suggestion. "It is most likely," he whispered, "that Nero is behind the final door of the hall, so as to get the most tactical advantage."

Jim frowned at the door. Most of the rooms lined the hallway's two sidewalls, but the last door was set into the third wall, which stared down the entire corridor. "Yeah," Jim muttered. "That's kinda what I was afraid of."

There were a few moments of silent conversation. Jim shouldered his phaser and crept down the hall. Spock ducked into the empty room that they'd just opened.

Jim flattened himself next to the door. '_One, two, three_,' Jim signed to Spock, and kicked the door in.

There was an immediate barrage of phaser shot that came streaming out of the room. Jim stayed as still as possible and hoped no one was a good trick shot. The initial onslaught quieted after a few tense moments.

Someone was slapped sharply upside the head. "Ayel, keep them in line," Nero drawled to someone in his room. There was a whispered positive, and another sharp noise of contact. Someone yelped.

"You will not be killed," Nero announced, "if you come out. Now, that is. Wait, and there is no guarantee that you will live. My men are angry."

"And Sybok?" Spock shouted from his spot down the hall.

"He will be left in his present condition if you agree to my demands," Nero responded. Jim wished that he could get a look at Sybok himself, to see what his 'present condition' actually _was_.

"What are your demands?" Spock asked.

"They are simply to –," There was a sharp yelp from Spock's bit of hallway. Jim caught his breath and strained for any sounds of movement from the Vulcan's room.

Finally, some footsteps. But they weren't Spock's. A crazily grinning android, stripped of all skin and gleaming disturbingly, dragged Spock out of the room by the collar. There was a dark charred spot directly over Spock's heart.

Jim was tempted to yell, to howl, to announce how destroyed he was. He settled for something entirely more practical.

Jim flipped around, faced Nero, waited just long enough to see the Romulan's expression change, and shot a hole straight through his head.

.bdobd.

The resulting chaos was so loud that Jim had blown an eardrum by the time Starfleet came to pick him up. It took two hours for them to arrive, and another hour for them to track down all fifty-four members of Nero's crew.

It turned out that Spock was Bambleweeny 57 for a reason: versions one through fifty-two were totally insane, and fifty-four and fifty-five were Ayel (Nero's second-in-command) and Nero, respectively. Sybok himself was fifty-six.

Versions one through fifty-five were all so dysfunctional that they'd been sent in their own faux-Romulan ship out into space to rot. Meson figured that an abandoned Romulan warship wasn't going to be searched. No one quite knew why they equipped the thing with guns.

The androids were just about to die when the _Kelvin_ showed up, and they acted on their homicidal rage and shot it down, taking George Kirk with it. When Spock shifted time the ship and its inhabitants were brought back to the state they were in seconds before George Kirk steered the _Kelvin_ into their ship's bow.

All of this was explained to a shaking Jim Kirk by an incredibly sympathetic Cadet Uhura, who was also assigned the completely unenviable job of telling Jim that Vulcan hadn't been saved.

"We tried," she said softly. "We did everything we could, I swear. The Romulans – well, not really the Romulans, but the people on that ship – made a drill out of their old gun parts and bits of themselves. It was stupidly strong. By the time we got there it was already too late, and they'd shot – well, we don't really know what it is. They shot something into the planet that makes black holes. The entire thing imploded."

"Did anyone survive?" Jim rasped. He was staring at Spock, who was stretched out on a bio bed being clucked at by a very tense Doctor McCoy.

"About seven thousand people. The High Council all made it."

"There was a human woman I knew, Lady Amanda? She was Sarek's wife."

Uhura shook her head. "We lost her during beaming. The bit of cliff she was standing on collapsed, and we lost her signal."

Jim burrowed deeper into the thermal blanket that had been shoved at him. "Where're we going now?"

Uhura sighed. "Earth, I think. I'm pretty sure that they're," she nodded over to Bones and his blonde nurse, "setting up a clinic there for your friend. There are some Vulcan doctors that they think can help him."

Jim nodded limply. "… What ship am I on?"

"_Enterprise_."

He laughed quietly. _Enterprise_. He'd be an Ensign, now, if he'd stayed in the Fleet.

Jim peered down at Spock, who was looking very pale and sick on the bio bed. They'd turned the bed off after the first five seconds: it'd started going crazy, saying that he had no pulse and that he was dead, dead, dead.

"… Is he an… android?" Uhura said the word like it was a curse.

Jim blinked contemplatively at the wan figure in bed. "… Yes. But he's also a Vulcan."

.bdobd.


	15. Enterprising

A/N: Like most of my canon info, the number of Constitution class starships comes from MemoryAlpha: _Constellation, Intrepid, Potemkin, Excalibur, Exeter, _NCC-1700_, Enterprise, Enterprise _(A)_, Hood, _NCC-1707_, Lexington,_ and_ Defiant._ I know that many of these ships didn't exist in the alternate universe, late 2250s, but since the _Enterprise_ somehow grew 2,091.15 meters in the alternate universe, I'm going to take a bit of artistic license here and keep the number and say that there were twelve ships sent after the _Narada._

I apologize for the ridiculous lag: real world, and all that.

.bdobd.

Bones – now 'Chief Medical Officer McCoy' – and Bones' head nurse Chapel had wheeled Spock into the shuttle on a gurney. Chapel had been very kind on the ride over; she'd come over a couple of times during the trip to rub Jim's sore shoulder in between calibrating anesthetic fields for Spock.

Spock didn't have hormones in the same way that everyone else did: Spock had hormone programs. Bones and one of the engineers on board had a very wordy conference call and developed a program that worked as a sedative for androids. The fact that Bones believed Spock needed to be _sedated_ was more than a little disturbing.

Bones and Chapel noisily wheeled Spock on the gurney down a hall to the Medical Bay. Jim blinked quietly at the inside of the Federation's flagship contently. Uhura gently grabbed his elbow and began leading him down a corridor towards a turbolift.

"Where're we going?"

"Bridge." The lift started to move slowly. "The captain wants to talk to you."

"Pike?" Jim was surprised. "Why?"

Uhura glared at him for not using Pike's proper title, then relented. "I don't know," she shrugged.

Jim stared out at the walls moving sluggishly past the lift. "What's up with the lift?" he asked. "I know this isn't proper speed."

"The _Narada_ shot through one of the hull seams, and a big chunk of it blew into space." Uhura winced. "Half of the engine went with it. We're running on impulse power; that's why it took so long for us to get to you."

Jim gaped at her. "How'd they know where the seam was?"

Hull seams were a necessary evil. There was no way to make a complex shape out of a flat piece of material without having a seam _somewhere_. Constitution-class ships had six major seams. If a seam broke, huge swaths of the hull were sucked into space because of the sudden breech. But you had to hit the seam just right to get it to break: they were made to be strong.

Uhura shrugged again. "No one knows. They knew too much about _all_ of the ships."

"Hey, yeah, where are they?" Jim remembered the rest of the fleet suddenly. "There were twelve ships sent, right? Why were you the only people who could pick us up?"

Uhura crossed her arms and sighed. "Because we're the only ship that made it."

Jim's eyes blew wide and he was about to respond when the lift doors opened on a tense bridge. He closed his open jaw with a snap. Uhura pushed lightly in between his shoulders – the right one still hurt from all the recoils from shooting the guard's ridiculous phaser – to get him moving.

Pike swiveled around to face him. The man looked absolutely exhausted. "… Hey." Jim waved lamely. "I hear you've been busy."

The older man smiled thinly but warmly. "That's a pretty way of putting it. Do you know how many Starfleet officers there are left?"

Apparently there was no small talk in the aftermath of a crisis. "… Not many?"

"Five hundred." Jim winced. The _Enterprise_ was rated to carry eleven hundred, but she usually went light so as to take on more passengers if need be. Eight hundred and fifty crew minus five hundred – three hundred and thirty crew dead in one mission.

"… That's pretty awful."

"It is," Pike nodded. This was a horribly awkward conversation, almost as bad as the time Jim tried to ask if Bones was bisexual without actually, well, _asking _him. "We're short of qualified people."

Jim felt one eyebrow rise a la Spock. "You're coming on to me _now?_"

The guy at the Helm snorted with amused horror. Jim quickly reviewed his sentence and grinned, embarrassed. "Not, you know, _that_ way, but, seriously? You're giving me the Patriotic recruitment speech _now?_ You've tried this one on me before, sir, and it didn't work then."

Pike frowned introspectively. Almost nothing had worked on Jim. Pike had sold him the Patriot's speech, the It's Not Actually That Bad of a Career speech, the Your Father Would've Wanted It speech (_that_ one had _not_ gone over well), the Glory and Honor speech (ditto), the It'll Make You a Better Person speech, and the Please I'm Begging You I'm Down on My Quota speech.

Pike had eventually been forced to draft an entirely new speech, custom made for Jim: Well, Where's Your Brilliant Idea, You Idiot?

Jim still didn't know why that one had worked. It was weird.

"Look," Pike sighed, slumping back in his chair. "I'll get you Lieutenant-Commander's stripes if you join right now. I know how you think and how much you know. I need you on this ship."

Both of Jim's eyebrows flew up to tap at his hairline. He was about to protest to the callousness of that argument when he noticed something odd near the base of Pike's chair. "… What's that?" he asked, pointing.

Pike curled over his armrest to stare at the rectangular panel Jim was pointing at. "… An _outlet_," Pike said slowly. "You have _seen_ one before, yes?"

"… Yeah," Jim said faintly. "Are there one of those in every room?"

Pike was looking at him oddly. "… In all of the rec rooms, and the officer's quarters. Why do you need to know?"

Jim knotted his hands behind his back. "… I have this friend," he hedged. "So, are those –,"

"Jim." Pike stared at him. "They're electrical outlets. They're just like _every other plug_ on Earth, except they run on the junk energy that's too dirty for the nacelles to use. Why the fuck to you need to know."

Jim peered contemplatively at the outlet. "First officer."

"What?" Pike gaped. "No deal."

"Okay," Jim shrugged. "Fine." He turned to leave.

"Deal," Pike grumbled. Uhura gasped with rage.

"Kirk you fucker!" she spewed. "What the fuck? Over five _billion_ people were just killed by a _fake Romulan_ and you're worried about –!"

"What better time to be a dick?" Jim asked nonchalantly. "I have a good job now, and a position to spread my beliefs around. And as a commanding officer, I get to recommend people to vacant positions on the ship."

Pike swore behind him. Jim smiled innocently at the captain. "I noticed you don't have a Science officer," he crooned. "Wouldn't a _Vulcan_ fit the job description _perfectly?_"

.bdobd.

Spock was curled on his side on a medical bed, shivering. Jim glared at a handy nurse, who threw up her hands. "We don't know why he's doing it," she defended. "His internal temperature's fine."

Jim frowned at her. She rolled her eyes. "I'll get another blanket," she grumbled, leaving the two of them in peace.

Jim crept around the bed to see Spock's face. The android looked miserable, and oddly blue. "Hey." Jim shook Spock's shoulder gently. "What's wrong?"

Spock's eyes were clenched shut. "I am running out of power," he rasped, "but I am not certain if I will be able to turn myself on if I go into sleep mode now."

Jim smiled slightly. "Guess what?" He reached around Spock's hunched shoulder and tapped softly at the base of his neck, freeing the plug that was hidden under the skin. "There's an outlet for every medical bed."

Spock perked up slightly and relaxed his shoulders, twisting to peer down at the outlet Jim was plugging him in to. "… That is extraordinarily convenient." Spock hummed slightly as he was connected to the wall, relaxing entirely. "Thank you."

Jim took a deep breath and continued to stare at the wall. "… There's also an outlet in every officer's quarters. And on the bridge and in all of the recreation rooms."

Spock's eyes were hazy and half-closed, but he seemed lucid. "Indeed?"

"Which is why I'm signing up to be first officer."

Spock's eyes shot open. He tried to sit up, but didn't have quite enough slack on his cord to do so. He pulled sharply at the back of his neck to unwind more cable and hauled his torso upright. "Expand."

Jim winced; that was not Spock's happy voice. "Dam Kore can make you sick if you don't follow her orders: she can cut you off from an electrical supply. She can't threaten you if you're on the _Enterprise_, though, because there are outlets everywhere. Also, she'll be freaking out over the Nero thing, because everyone on the _Narada_ was an android and she'll need to be doing some serious PR. One of the big things androids will be accused of is being anti-Federation, because A) they attacked Vulcan and B) there aren't any androids in Starfleet."

Spock nodded reluctantly. "… Your logic is sound."

"So the best thing for _you_ would be to stay on the _Enterprise_ and the best thing for _Dam Kore_ would be for you to stay on the _Enterprise_," Jim concluded.

Spock groaned with obvious irritation. "Where does your readmission to Starfleet enter into this discussion?"

"It's a stipulated admission," Jim explained carefully. "I'm put back into Starfleet only if I am immediately given the position 'First Officer of the _Enterprise_' the _moment_ I enter service. And as first officer, I get to recommend applicants to vacant positions aboard the ship."

Spock's eyebrows rose slowly. "… That is… a remarkably sound plan."

Jim finally turned from the wall to beam up at the unwillingly impressed Vulcan. "Thank you! I'm actually pretty proud of it myself."

Spock all but rolled his eyes. "Are applicants that have not passed through Starfleet Academy acceptable for –,"

"Usually not," Jim interrupted with a shrug, "but with only five-hundred active service members alive, I don't think they'll be nearly as anal with the rules. They can't afford it."

Spock stared into middle distance for a while before nodding decisively. "I agree. Come here."

"What?" Jim blinked.

"Come." Spock twitched his fingers in the universal gesture for 'get over here'.

Jim stood cautiously, not sure what to expect. He was completely surprised when Spock dragged him into a hug. "… 'Ello?" Jim grinned against Spock's warm shoulder. "Wha's this for?"

"Thank you," Spock rumbled, "for thinking of me."

Jim burrowed happily into the android's warm shoulder, content to entirely forget all of the people who'd died and all of the families who'd been destroyed. If only for now.

.bdobd.

Jim wound up spending the night in Sickbay, sitting in a chair with his upper body draped awkwardly across Spock's bed.

It would take another two days for the _Enterprise_ to reach Earth. If the ship was warp-capable, it would've taken a good, oh, three seconds, but she wasn't, and it wouldn't.

Jim tried to talk Bones into letting him crash in Sickbay with Spock. His plan was unceremoniously scrapped. "No fuckin' way," the Southerner said bluntly. "I've got a huge backlog and I don't have the room for you. Go get crew quarters from Pike and leave me alone for a spell; I'm gonna be stupidly busy until we land. What's the ETA again?"

"Two days." Jim made pathetic eyes over Bones' desk. "Bones, they _hate_ me. I was _horrible_. I'll be lynched! You wouldn't want –,"

"Out," Bones pointed. "Now. I do not have the time. I've got two reconstructive surgeries on people's faces to finish today. Do you want two people to lose their noses? Hmm?"

Jim crept anxiously out of Bones' office, admitting that he did not, in fact, want two people to go nose-less for the rest of their lives. He found Pike's current location (bridge, stunningly enough) on a ship computer and decided that he really did not want to deal with the man. He shuffled down to the mess hall feeling weirdly guilty.

Mess hall was usually divided in half with a large temporary wall: one side was for eating, the other for department-wide conferences. The divider had been broken down so that the replicators were immediately accessible to the scraggly pack of engineers that were swearing at ship diagnostics.

Jim tried not to listen in. He was tired and his shoulder still twinged occasionally, even though Bones had repeatedly assured him that there was nothing _wrong_ with the joint. He ordered something Indian-sounding and did his best to ignore the argument going on not three meters from him.

"But that's the _left_ nacelle –!"

"No, it was connected after the hull breech, remember? Matherson said that –,"

"But he is dead. I believe –,"

"We all _know _that! Going on about what _Matherson_ woulda done isn' gonna get us anywhere –!"

Jim frowned at the replicator. The guy named Matherson must've been the chief engineer when the _Narada_ attacked. When the hull seam broke, it sounded like he ordered the two separate warp cores for the nacelles to be combined into one central engine to make sure that the engines weren't totally destroyed. It was a textbook move, but a stupid one. One central engine was heavy, and so wasn't as likely to be blown into space by a hull breech, but it wasn't as efficient. More heat loss.

It'd take a genius to take that engine back apart. You'd have to go in and reapportion the dilithium in the holding chambers without setting it off, which was ridiculously hard.

A better engine would get the ship to Earth faster, though. And faster was better in a crisis. Jim grabbed his lunch – unwise, it was still hot. Jim pulled his sleeves over his hands, picked his bowl up gingerly, and scooted over to an unoccupied table.

He flipped open his company comm and contacted Trifacio. The automaton opened the channel with obvious surprise. "_Kirk?_"

Jim grinned wanly at her. "Hey, Trifacio. Love the blue."

One of her faces gaped at him. Her neck twisted sharply, another face snapping into position. "Are you alright?"

That was odd; she'd never switched faces in the middle of a conversation before. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm on the _Enterprise_ with Spock. The ship's having some engine troubles."

She flickered between two expressions, the wheel in her neck shuddering under the strain. Jim wondered whether her third face was talking to anyone. "What do you need?" she keened.

The face thing must be nerves, Jim decided. She couldn't pick an emotion to feel, so she assigned a feeling to different sides of her head and toggled between the faces. "A really, really, _really_ good engineer. I figured an android would know the best man for the job."

Trifacio's third face, contemplative, replaced her nervous and determined ones. "There's on man," she said slowly, "that's the best at about anything. He's a sort of exile, though."

Jim frowned. "What's his name? What'd he do?"

She switched faces; her determined side became her business mask. "He was experimenting with transporter theory," she explained as she typed in comm numbers, "and used Admiral Archer's dog for practice."

Jim gaped. "Archer's _dog_? Porthos?"

Trifacio nodded. "That was the name, yes."

"Is the engineer _Montgomery Scott?_"

"Oh," Trifacio looked up, "do you already know him?"

"Know him?" Jim spluttered. "He was sent to _Delta Vega!_ I've never _seen_ Archer so angry! That was his prize beagle and Scotty sent it to an alien _moon!_"

"But he did send it."

"Well, yeah," Jim admitted, "but the dog_ never came back!_"

"I am sure that he's improved the theory by now," she shrugged nonchalantly. "He's a fantastic doctor. The ARA refers all ill androids to him, and he does wonderful work."

Jim bit his lip. Scotty _would_ moonlight as an android doctor. He was crazy, but he was a nice crazy, and he was smart. "… Okay," Jim sighed, "what's his number?"

.bdobd.

No one was manning the transporter pad. There was far too much else to be done: the hallways made inhabitable by the hull breech had to be reshaped so that the _Enterprise_ wouldn't burn up on reentry. As it was, the friction caused by the messy destruction would heat the remaining hull to the point of melting. Engineering and what was left of Maintenance were bending any problematic bits inward so that they wouldn't cause drag.

So it was relatively easy to beam Scotty up. The poor man had been desperate to get out of his frozen headquarters. He'd sent Jim an _amazing_ formula for beaming while the receiving pad was traveling at impulse/warp speed: Scotty'd said that his 'friend' and his 'mechanic' had helped him out, and so Jim prepped the pad for three.

Three figures materialized in a metallic swirl. One was about Scotty-sized, but the other two were exercises in extremes: one of them was inhumanly tall and thin, while the other was inhumanly short and squat.

The Scotty-shaped blur solidified into a Scotty-shaped Scotty, who bounded excitedly off of the pad and began babbling happy nonsense into Jim's ear. "Ah'll nevah thank ye enough," the man's accent increased proportionally with his emotion. "It was a right 'ell down there. Terrible livin' condtions. If it wasn' for my friend Spock 'ere," Scotty nodded to the very old, very tall man stepping off of the transporter pad, "we wouldna' made it off!"

Jim was staring at 'Spock'. He knew it was rude. "… Spock?" he asked quietly. "When are you from?"

Spock – old Spock – shrugged off his heavy jacket. "One hundred and twenty-nine years from now," Spock answered. "It has been too long, friend."

Scotty blinked at the Vulcan. "Hey now," he muttered suspiciously, "you know 'im?"

A green alien, the squat form that Jim'd been puzzling over on the pad, walked over to tug at Scotty's pant leg. "Wha?" The engineer looked down at his friend. Scotty now sufficiently distracted, Jim carefully moved closer to the old Spock.

"… Alternate universe?" he guessed.

The Vulcan did an eye-grin. "Yes. You are correct."

Jim found himself fighting a smile; the man was so obviously happy to see him. "You're a bit far from home, aren't you?" Jim joked.

Spock nodded. "In a way. How did you contact Mr. Scott? I had begun to worry that we would never speak."

Jim looked over to Scotty, who was arguing with a recalcitrant green midget. "… He has a bit of a… reputation… in the Academy. Well, had, I guess. And he's popular with the androids."

"Androids?" Spock repeated quizzically. "What do that androids have to do with this?"

"You're not – Oh," Jim realized. "You're not one too?"

"… We have much to discuss," Spock said slowly. "Can we walk?"

"Yeah," Jim nodded. "Lemme just get these two over to the idiots down in engineering first. I wouldn't trust them with my bike, let alone a starship."

.bdobd.

After shuffling Scotty off to the engine room, Jim had put in an abbreviated message to Pike, telling him who had come on the ship and why. Then he'd taken Spock-old-Spock to meet Spock-his-Spock.

[Android] Spock sat up in his bed as Jim walked in. "Jim," he asked suspiciously, "who is that?"

Old Spock stepped quietly into Android Spock's alcove. Bones had given him his own room, because of the weird looks he'd been getting, what with his bio bed turned _off_ and all. The android stared warily at the newcomer.

"I am Spock," Spock-old-Spock announced. "It seems that you are, as well."

Jim looked, bemused, from one Spock to the other. "Spock," he addressed the android, "this is Spock. He was on Delta Vega and is from another dimension. He's an organic. I have a feeling that the time issue might've caused him to switch dimensions. Is that all right?" he asked organic Spock.

Old Spock nodded and took a chair by the end of the bed, cuing Jim to steal a seat near android Spock's head. "Yes," the organic version of Spock nodded, "that is essentially correct. James informed me on our walk here of your inadvertent dimensional interference."

Android Spock glowered at the older him. "Had I known and been able to control –,"

"I am not attempting to blame you," organic Spock interrupted smoothly. "I am simply explaining my presence. Your dimensional singularity pulled me from my dimension and brought me to yours. I crash landed on Delta Vega and was found by Mr. Scott, who was the chief engineer on my own version of the_ Enterprise._"

Android Spock's eyebrows peaked with interest. "Who was the captain of your _Enterprise_?"

Old Spock blinked. "Is it not James Kirk?"

"What?" Jim asked. "_I_ was the captain?"

"I did not know that you were not here," organic Spock said, clearly befuddled. "Who is your captain?" 

"Christopher Pike," android Spock answered as Jim gawped silently. Organic Spock frowned slightly.

"Christopher Pike was captain of the _Enterprise_ prior to Captain Kirk's promotion. Apparently, that has not yet occurred."

Jim was stunned. "Waitaminnut. What do you mean 'yet'? There's no guarantee that that'll happen here just because it happened there."

"It seems to be the case, however," organic Spock said politely. "The current theory in my dimension is that the time stream, when wounded, attempts to repair itself. The time stream is exhibiting such behaviors now: every member of the bridge crew of my _Enterprise_ is here on this ship."

"Fascinating," young Spock murmured.

"I'm not even in _Starfleet_," Jim protested. "That doesn't make any sense!"

"You are not in Starfleet?" organic Spock asked, dumbfounded. "How is that possible?"

"I was kicked out after I made Spock sentient!" Jim gestured to android Spock, who looked a bit guilty. "Don't you go on feeling like it's your fault," Jim ordered the automaton.

Organic Spock was staring at Jim like he was absolutely insane. "How can you not be in Starfleet? How are you on this ship?"

Jim sighed gustily. "It's a long story. I made Spock and I got kicked out of the Fleet for a variety of reasons. Spock and I signed up to be speakers for the Androids' Rights Association, and they sent us to Vulcan, where the whole singularity thing happened. After that they sent us to the Lorentian System, where the _Narada_ came to get Spock and me – they destroyed Vulcan on the way over – and I killed Nero there.

"Pike and the _Enterprise_ responded to the distress call that I sent out about the_ Narada_ and they picked Spock and me up. I figured out that the _Enterprise_'s engines were destroyed and called up the ARA to get the number of a good engineer, because if anyone knew engineers, it was going to be the ARA. Then I called Scotty and he gave me coordinates – was that your formula?"

Organic Spock nodded slowly.

"It was really good, very pretty. Anyway, you and Keenser –," Jim turned to android Spock. "Keenser is Scotty's buddy; they were trapped on Delta Vega together after a transporter experiment vaporized one of Admiral Archer's favorite dogs." Jim turned back to organic Spock, who was beginning to look amused. "Anyway, you and Keenser and Scotty were beamed up by moí, who then put Scotty and his buddy where they wanted to be and took you here."

Jim beamed at the two Spocks. "Any questions?"

Android Spock nodded. "Does the captain know that he," Spock nodded to the old Spock, "is here?"

"Um." Jim flushed. "I put in a little thing to his inbox, but –,"

"JIM!" Bones howled through the door. "PIKE JUST CALLED AND _WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?_"

Jim hunkered low in his chair. "… I didn't do much more than that, though."

"… Really," android Spock muttered sarcastically. "I never would have guessed."

.bdobd.


	16. Questions

A/N: If it makes you feel any better, I abandoned the _entire_ internet during my winter vacation, not just you guys. I apologize.

According to _The Making of Star Trek_ by Stephen E. Whitfield, Kirk's serial number is SC 937-0176 CEC. (The book is quite good: it focuses on the real-world issues Roddenberry encountered as he was trying to get the original season off the ground. Whitfield finished it at the end of the second season, so there're a few projections that are incorrect, but otherwise it's very accurate and unexpectedly funny.)

.bdobd.

Jim had made sure that the deck was completely empty before plugging into Pike's channel.

"_What were you thinking?_" the captain hissed angrily, making the comm's speakers whimper pitifully.

Jim stiffened at the tone. Pike was making it sound like Jim had done something monumentally stupid, instead of something a _tad _unadvisable. "I heard that the engines were bad, and that they needed fixing. I called up the ARA –," Pike hissed warningly, "_lemme finish_ because they're a group of androids and engineers are like doctors to them, so I figured they'd know a good engineer."

Pike was making no noise, yet, at the same time, managing to growl like an angry wildebeest. Or, more likely, and angry mutated carnivorous wildebeest, because the normal sort didn't eat meat or growl.

"That's one person," Pike growled mutatedly. "What about the _other two?_"

"Two? What –? Oh, are you counting Keenser?"

Jim could feel Pike look at him in a disturbing manner. "… Keenser, yeah. He's sort of Scotty's sidekick."

"…"

"… Yes, sir?"

"…"

"I know. It wasn't a very good idea."

_"…"_

"… That would be Spock."

"…?"

"Spock. You know. Well, actually – Okay, maybe you _don't_ know – _I'm getting there!_" Pike's silence had gotten impatient again. "The Spock I'm talking about is not the android Spock of this universe, but an organic Spock of another universe. He's about… He's at _least_ one hundred and thirty years old. He helped Scotty and Keenser beam onto the ship."

"About that. How did –?"

"No idea, sir."

"Do _not_ interrupt me."

"Yes, sir."

"How did this other Spock get into this universe?"

"He came through when our Spock rewound time a couple of days ago."

"_What_."

"Oh. Um." Jim swallowed nervously. "You know that our Spock can make infinite improbability fields, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so a few days ago, we were on Vulcan, and we were attacked, and Spock freaked out and rewound time so that we weren't attacked. When he did that, he fucked up the time stream, letting Nero and his ship and other Spock through from another time."

"… Alright." Jim decided to be hopeful; Pike wasn't taking this_ quite_ as badly as physically possible. "So why are Keenser and the other Spock on the _Enterprise_?" 

"They helped him set up his transport pad so that he wouldn't be Porthos-ized when he came through."

Pike grumbled before sighing tiredly. "Fine. Get all of the new people assignments to quarters from Uhura; she's the new Communications officer and is in charge of room and board. We'll send the other Spock off with the rest of the Vulcan refugees as soon as possible." Pike paused caustically. "Unless you've decided to assign him a post, too?"

Jim flinched. "No, sir."

"No, _Captain._"

"No, Captain."

"Pike out."

"Kirk out." The comm clicked off and Jim slumped against the wall, head in hands. He was going to die.

.bdobd.

Uhura was forced to give Jim the XO's official quarters, but she wasn't happy about it. Spock got an adjoining room, because until Pike officially said so, Spock was for all intents and purposes the Chief Science Officer.

Spock looked around his new room with palpable anxiety. "Where are you to be?"

"I'm right through the bathroom." Jim grabbed a limp elbow and tugged gently. "There's your door here." The bathroom's door opened automatically on a white tiled area with lots of calk and shelving. "I'm just through the room and past the door."

Spock was blinking quietly. "… Will that door open?"

Jim shrugged, walked over to the lock pad, and punched in his entry code. The pad muttered contemplatively before opening. Jim gestured into his slightly larger room. "Put in 937-0176 and you'll get in. I trust you not to stalk me." Jim grinned at the joke, but Spock just seemed more nervous.

Jim sighed and walked back across the room to the skittish Vulcan. "What's wrong, babe."

The endearment didn't distract Spock like he'd really hoped it would. "… I have never charged alone before."

Jim blinked sharply. "What? Yeah you have; in the bathroom that other –,"

"You were four meters from me." Spock presented a fantastic set of seal eyes. Jim tried to hide his exasperation.

"Well, what do you suggest? I need to get some sleep, and if I'm not in my room if Pike calls he'll murder me." 

Spock simpered.

"What? _No._ You are _not_ sleeping in here. That's _way_ too codependent for me."

Spock didn't move. He looked wounded. Jim crossed his arms and prepared to wait this one out.

"… You know, it's kind of creepy that you don't have to blink," he said after a long silence. It was a low blow, but –

"I am fortunate, then, that you are above such things." Spock was still doing The Eyes. Jim's lips thinned.

"… Before you come in here –," Spock perked up, "_no_, seriously, we've got to talk." The android deflated again. "I need to know about your Prime Directive."

Spock stared at the floor. "… Very well. Could we discuss this in –,"

Jim threw up his hands. "_Yes! Fine_, we can discuss this in my quarters. I _don't _like it though; eventually you're going to have to figure out how to live without me. I won't be here forever."

Spock followed him, shuffling, into the First Officer's quarters. "Does the training have to start now?" Jim flopped backwards onto the bed and buried his head in his hands. He could hear Spock moving things around, trying to get at the outlet behind the nightstand.

"It'd've been better if it'd started a _week_ ago; I need to know that you can live on your own. I will _not_ have you become totally dependent on any one person, even if that person is me." It was pretty obvious that he couldn't trust himself with Spock's welfare.

"Acceptable." Spock claimed the desk chair and pulled it up to the headboard. "I do not understand your urgency, however. The _Enterprise_ is scheduled for a five year mission, yes?"

"First of all, there's no guarantee that I'll _survive_ all five years." Spock stiffened. "Men in my family have a nasty habit of dying before they hit thirty-three, and I'm already in my mid-twenties. Second of all, I can't promise that either of us will be able to keep our positions. The minute Pike finds decent replacements, he'll knock me off for sure, and I think you'll be next. He's not happy with me and I don't know if he trusts you."

"… It would be rather illogical of him to do so."

"Right." Jim started to massage his forehead with the heels of his hands, keeping his eyes tightly shut. "_And_, if what that guy at Meson said is true, your Prime Directive is to be with me at all times."

Spock didn't say anything.

"Which would be a violation of the rights of sentient beings, as you must know."

Spock still didn't say anything.

"So, for both of our sakes, it'd be _great_ if you could tell me the truth about what the fuck you're supposed to be doing, according to you."

Spock began meticulously unwinding cable from the back of his neck. "… My Prime Directive," he started slowly, "is a rather complex piece of coding."

"Really. I never would've guessed."

"If you could be silent, it would greatly aid my concentration."

Jim was quiet, but in a way that made sure Spock knew that the human wasn't happy about it.

"Thank you. My Prime Directive controls what my main goals are in life. The standardized Directive for human-based sentients includes desire for companionship and desire for recognition for accomplishments. For Vulcans, the Directive must include desire for bonding and desire for knowledge." Spock shifted uncomfortably.

"Extrapolating from what the Meson employee stated, my Prime Directive includes a heavy emphasis on bonding and companionship, apparently to the exclusion of the other desires. Furthermore –,"

"Wait a minute." Jim sat up. "'_Extrapolating from'_? You don't _know?_"

Spock nervously rubbed a section of cable between two fingers. "When you asked if you could order me to alter my top priority to factor in my needs or wants, I was uncertain. I checked my database and realized that I could not, in fact, do so."

Jim stopped breathing. "But – But you did that improbability field to fix it!"

Spock squirmed. "To _attempt_ to fix it."

"But you _said_ you fixed it! And that you were happier with the new ones!"

"Indeed."

Jim waited for the android to continue. When Spock continued to say nothing, the human began to splutter. "But! … Lying isn't going to make me happy!"

"I know." Spock looked positively ill now. "It is making you very upset."

"I – Oh, _fuck_ I'm an idiot. Spock, look at me." Jim grabbed the android's shoulders and shook gently. "Spock, I'm the guy you're supposed to be listening to, apparently, and I say that I want you to continue telling me the truth. Alright?"

Spock ground gears in his throat. "I am really not supposed to –,"

"Your job is to make me happy?" 

"No, not exactly. I am to keep you safe and content. Your overall happiness is best sought by yourself."

Jim blinked at him. "So you're here to keep me from getting killed."

"Basically, that is correct."

"So where does the happy thing come in?"

"I cannot accurately predict all of your moods," Spock explained. "You are more proficient at creating situations that please you. I am here to enable those situations." 

Jim felt his jaw get looser. "So, because I'm best at _me_, you'll let me do my thing, and help out with that."

"Yes." Spock nodded, apparently relieved now that the conversation was drawing to a close.

"What happens when I get bad at stuff?"

Spock looked at him oddly. "Then I will be forced to take over."

He said this as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Jim was disturbed. "What if I don't _want_ you to take over?"

"Then I will not, of course. If my presence is… distressing, then I will vacate." Spock narrowed his eyes with concern. "Is that what you are trying to tell me? That I am no longer wished for?"

"Wha – NO! I'm just –," Jim sighed and collapsed against the wall behind the bed. "I'm trying to figure this out."

"It is rather simple," Spock shrugged.

"Then just tell me what your Prime Directive is, and we can drop the subject!"

"I do not know what it is," Spock admitted. Jim's eyes widened.

"How do you not know what–?"

"Do you know what yours is?"

"… Well, no. But I'm –,"

"Every sentient being has one. Organics develop theirs. Inorganic sentients have theirs programmed."

Jim gaped. "How do _you_ know?"

"It is logical. If a being has no goals, it does not do. Therefore, every being that works must have some kind of goal always in mind."

"Fine, I'll accept that. But why don't you know yours if it's programmed?"

"I did."

"…" Jim waited. "… _And?_"

"You did not want me to have a Prime Directive that is exclusively concerned with the needs of others. Apparently, my Directive rendered that desire impossible to fulfill."

"So you just made yourself _forget!_"

"That does seem to be the case."

"How – But!" Jim leaned forward, beseeching. "But that doesn't make any sense! How are you supposed to fulfill your Directive, then?"

Spock, again, looked at him like he was the crazy one. "I function in the organic manner: I find what I think makes me happy, and then I pursue that environment. As your company pleases me, my Directive must be concerned with you. Also, I am not pleased when you are harmed. By working in this manner I should, eventually, be able to figure out what I am supposed to be doing." 

Jim's mouth opened and closed helplessly as he searched for an appropriate response. This was just too strange. All of this fussing, and the trouble was really that Spock was too _human_ to figure out what he needed. "… So if someone comes up to you and asks, 'Are you a violation of the rights of sentients?', what do you say?"

"… What do you want me to say?"

"_NO_, damnit, that's the wrong answer!"

"I apologize." Spock stared beatifically up at the ceiling. "… I would tell the truth. I do not know of my top priorities, and therefore even if I _was_ to be exclusively serving one person, I would not know of it, and would be serving of my own free will, which would nullify any salient legal issues."

Jim looked at Spock for a long moment. "… Pike's going to kill me."

"No, he is not." Spock gave him another funny look. "Have we not just discussed this?"

"… You are _not_ attacking Pike."

"It was not in my original plans for the day, no."

Jim snorted in spite of himself. "So, what're we going to do?"

"Continue to perform admirably."

"What if that doesn't _work?_"

"Then we will become more creative."

Jim sighed. "God, I hope it'll be that easy."

.bdobd.

Pike was 'relieved of his command' the day the _Enterprise_ landed on Earth. Most of the admiralty had gone off to the _Narada _Incident in person, on starships, to see how their newly promoted disciples preformed on the field. Only Archer and Barnett stayed at the Academy, and only they lived through the Battle of Vulcan. Pike was drafted as one of the new admirals to fill in the administrative gap.

One of the other new admirals, Bolim, was in charge of rosters, because with Archer at the head of the Reconstruction Effort and Barnett dealing with the media, the rosters had to be handed to_ someone_ down the line. This particular someone had taken a quick glance at the _Enterprise_'s command structure and carried out the usual promotion schedule: First Officer became Captain, and that person chose the new First Officer.

Jim, stunned, gave it over to Spock, too incoherent to do anything else.

When Pike found out what had been done in his absence, he was ready to murder both Jim and the innocent android, who answered the door to their shared quarters to be faced with a red faced and furious new admiral.

Spock fended the livid man off as best he could, then roused Jim, who wound up shutting the door in the man's face because it was too early in the morning to be called a traitor for his taste.

Spock stared at the door with obvious unease. "I do not think that was polite."

"It wasn't." Jim stomped off towards the bedroom. Spock trailed meekly after him.

"Perhaps –?"

"I'm not apologizing."

"I was not –,"

"Yes you were."

"The idea does hold some merit."

"I don't care. He doesn't get to call me or you… what he called me and you."

"It was not –,"

"Yes it was."

"But –,"

Jim slammed the bedroom door, ignoring his own guilt at abusing the genuinely torn Vulcan and willing himself to sleep. He was only unconscious for an hour when Spock crept back into the room to gently poke him into the real world, saying that Uhura was at the door and was refusing to speak to anyone but Jim.

Jim didn't bother putting on a robe; he faced her in his boxers, hoping to send a message that was ultimately ignored. "I don't care _how_ early it is," the enraged woman hissed, "you _will _explain yourself!"

"No I won't," Jim responded. He shut the door in her face as well and thumped back into the bedroom. Spock just stood uncomfortably in the hallway, watching him pass.

Apparently, three more people – Bones, Sulu, and Scotty – came to the door, but Spock managed to beg, borrow, or otherwise convince them not to make him wake Jim up again.

This report came over a chronically unhealthy breakfast of coffee and lots of artificial sweetener, with the increasingly tense hybrid looking on stoically as Jim stuffed as much caffeine into himself as was physically possible in just five minutes time. "That is not good for you."

"And?"

"… You are attempting to provoke me."

"I'm not 'attempting', I'm _succeeding._"

Spock's jaw tightened. "What do you expect to prove by this juvenile behavior? I remain unimpressed."

Jim slurped his coffee as loudly as he could. "Guess I'll just have to try harder, then."

Spock looked at him carefully. "You _want_ me to become angry?"

Jim raised his chin in defiance. "What would happen if I said yes?"

Spock thought this over with a thoroughness that made Jim want to punch him. "I would ask Doctor McCoy to examine you."

"And if I said no?"

Spock paused again before answering. "I would not believe you." He reached for the comm.

"Stop," Jim ordered abruptly. Spock didn't move, but Jim had the feeling that it was more out of curiosity than obedience. "What do you think Bones'll find? He's not a magician, you know; there isn't some magic 'make Jim mature' pill."

"I agree. There is, however, a 'make Jim realize how idiotic he is being' conversation." Spock started to punch in Bones's number.

"And how, exactly, does that go?"

Spock looked at him from the corner of his eye. "'Jim, your attitude is hurting people. You need to stop or they will not associate with you, and you will be sad.' I have the impression that Doctor McCoy will utilize more expletives, however."

Jim felt his eyebrows go up. "Won't the conversation lose a bit of its impact now that you've explained it to me?"

"No." Spock hung up the comm without pressing 'talk'. "It has worked quite well, I find."

He walked out of the room without another word, leaving Jim gaping in his wake.

.bdobd.

To Jim's eternal shame, the Kitchen Conversation did have an impact, and he felt like a bastard. He decided to go find out if he was actually getting the ship, because that seemed like a pretty important decision about his future that probably would want some say in.

This made his first stop of the day Admiral Bolim's office, which was _really _awkward. Turned out when a guy who still, technically, has the rank of Cadet slams the door in an admiral's face at four in the morning, news traveled quickly.

Bolim wasn't very happy to see him. "Yes?" the man asked caustically.

"Um." Jim stood nervously on the threshold, feeling like a kid who'd been caught cheating on a quiz. "I, well…" He took a deep breath. "IneedtoknowifI'mgettingthe_Enterprise._"

Bolim took a moment to decode Jim's word puke. "You _need_ to know."

"Yeah." Jim squirmed uncomfortably. "It seems fair, seeing as I might be asked to head it up."

Bolim's eyebrows rose disbelievingly. "This is the same person who told Admiral Pike to 'fuck off' and then _closed his door_ in said admiral's face?"

Jim peered at his shoes. "To be fair, sir, it was four in the morning, on the day after I'd been told that I might be asked to captain a flagship."

Bolim considered this, tapping his stylus irritatingly against the edge of his desk. "… Come in."

"Yes, sir."

The door shut behind him automatically. Jim took one of the chairs in front of Bolim's desk and waited for judgment. "… You were the First Officer of the _Enterprise_ when Admiral Pike was captain of the _Enterprise_."

"Yes, sir."

"I heard an interesting story from the Admiral this morning about how, exactly, you got to that position."

Jim gulped. "… Yes, sir?"

"Apparently, you _blackmailed_ the Admiral _for yourself_ to get your_ friend_ a Chief Officer's position?"

Jim thought about this. "That's… basically what happened, sir." Bolim looked monumentally unimpressed. "But my friend does _have_ the credentials for the job, sir."

"But he is your friend."

"… Yes, sir, that – that's a decent enough description."

"Decent."

"Um." Fuck. "Well, we're rooming together right now, if that makes any difference."

"Cadet Kirk?"

"Yes?"

"You and your friend know that five sixths of this building's rooms are unfilled, yes?"

"He's codependent, sir. I swear, I'm _trying_ to make it better, but –,"

"_He's _codependent?"

Jim got annoyed. "I can sleep without him in my room sir, the opposite isn't true. He's not really very old, and he's not used to the Fleet just yet."

"Then how, exactly, is he credentialed for," Bolim checked his PADD, "First Officer's position?"

Well, when he put it like that… "He's very intelligent, sir, and he's a fast learner."

"So is my _cat_, but I'm not putting her on the flagship!"

"Well, you don't _run_ the flagship." Jim and Bolim's expressions of horror mirrored each other as they realized what, exactly, had just come out of Jim's mouth. "I mean –! I'm so sorry, sir, I didn't –,"

"You're getting the _Enterprise_."

Jim blinked and cut off his apologetic tirade. "What?"

Bolim glared at him sourly. "You're getting the _Enterprise_," he repeated. "It's not like we have anyone else, and you showed courage in a crisis situation."

Jim blinked again. "… I get the feeling that this is more for the media than for the Fleet."

"And intuition, to boot," Bolim said sarcastically. "People _love_ you. And they love you because of what you and your friend the android did. If we split you up, we'll look like horrible people, and our recruitments will go down."

Jim sat back and stared. "So to prevent people thinking you're all evil, you're going to not do the evil thing that _in any other circumstance_ –,"

"You have it."

"… I have to admire your deviousness, good sir."

Bolim snorted with amusement and pointed to the door. "Get the hell out of my office. Pike will kill me if he sees you in here."

.bdobd.


	17. Broken

A/N: In the spirit of Douglas Adams, I give you a short chapter that took far too much time to write. I hope you all had a good time. I'll be going back in later to do some extensive rewrites, but it may take me a while to get around to that.

.bdobd.

It was almost embarrassing, the number of things the Academy dorm rooms had in their medicine cabinets. Specifically, the surfeit of products that were solely for putting in baths. There was a pink liquid that added a healthy dose of vitamin B6, some thick stuff for adding in electrolytes, a set of hard nobby slabs that were probably once crystals, at some point, but had melted and solidified and now only coyly pretended to dissolve in water. There were queer little creatures in disturbingly green bottles labeled **MINE** that bloomed when dunked into anything over fifteen degrees.

Jim was feeling shitty, and his face hurt, so he added in everything that didn't have visible teeth or labels that referenced seemingly invisible people. Colors mixed and swirled, and the water in the tub became muddy and fairly gelatinous, with queer little once-living things floating in it.

It still smelled nice, though, from what he could tell. Jim sank strangely slowly into the goo and spent three minutes determinedly Not Doing Anything.

Spock came in and fucked it all up one hundred and eighty-one seconds after Jim got in the tub. "… May I enter?" The android asked, peeking around the edge of the bathroom door. He sounded concerned: unduly, Jim thought. The blonde was only steeping in the bath, not actively trying to kill himself.

"Ih you neeb do."

Spock slunk over and sat on the bathmat. Jim tried to ignore the pitiful looks the man was sending his way. "Can I helb you?" Jim asked, aiming for an aloof tone and missing dramatically.

"… I feel obligated to inform you that your nose is… rather broken."

"No thit."

"… May I know what –,"

"Uhu'a."

"The Lieutenant hit you?"

Jim glared at Spock around the mound of gauze that covered his healing nose. "No. I foughd a wall that was oud to ged me."

Spock blinked slowly. "… And how did the wall fare?"

Jim snorted and was suddenly reminded of how broken his nose was. Spock appeared alarmed by the sudden twin gushings of blood that erupted from the human's face, and fluttered about for toilet paper while Jim told him to 'thid down!'

Spock did so petulantly.

Jim set his head perpendicularly to the wall and stared up at the ceiling. He didn't dare touch his face, so he settled for gently patting the air around the wound every so often. "Now," he said. "Whad'd you wand?"

Spock gathered his composure from where it'd been cowering under the bathmat. "Why did Uhura hit you?"

"I told her I wath the new capdain of the _Enterprithe_."

Spock's eyes widened. "Congratulations, Jim. When did you learn of your promotion?"

"Two minudes before Uhura hid me."

"Why did she do that? I still do not understand."

"Thee thaid that I wath a bathard that di'nt detherve ih. And thad I wath thmug and I wathn't paying enugh addenthun do Vulcan."

Spock's brows furrowed. "Did she state what information she believed you to have missed?"

"Id'th dehinadly pothible, bud I wath a bid bithy bleeding by then."

"… Oh. Did you go to the Medical Offices?"

"Yeah. Boneth wath there an' he put the gauth on me. The dermal regulador should kick in thoon."

Spock very much did not frown, in a distinct manner that would have been frowning on anyone else. He got up and went to the door. "I will investigate."

Jim frowned suddenly. "Hey, Thpock?"

Spock paused in the doorway. "Yes, Jim?"

"You know thad i's gonna be alrighd, yeah?" He had meant it as a reassurance, but it came out needier than he'd wanted.

Spock just nodded. "Of course. As long as we are partnered, there is little that can truly harmless." Spock turned to look at Jim. "You know this."

Jim relaxed and grinned. "Yeah. And if things ged really bad, you can jusd change the whole world!"

"Indeed." Spock shrugged daintily. "It is not my first resort, however."

"Of courz."

"Is there anything else?"

"I don' thing so." Spock turned to leave again. "Bud you know thad I'd go with you, righd? If you needed –,"

"Jim." Spock turned, folded his arms, and stared at the bleeding human with affectionate exasperation. "I would never voluntarily leave. If I felt I needed to somehow exit the situation, you can be assured that you will be coming with me, whether you know it or not."

Jim beamed. "Okhay. Thangs. Repor' backh when you're done."

"I will." Spock stood and walked with enviable purpose into the living room. Jim stood much more painfully, pulled the plug, stepped around the wilting alien life forms, and very carefully showered all of the gunk off.

.bdobd.

Spock was still in the living room when Jim got out of the shower, looking confused. "Wha's wrong?"

"… I have been attempting to search the Academy database for information on Vulcan," Spock started slowly, facing the computer. "However, the only two answers the search engine appears capable of giving are 'four' and 'A Suffusion of Yellow'."

Jim blinked sharply, regretted it, and moved to stare at the holoscreen. He reached around Spock's shoulders to take over the keyboard and tapped, '2(3)' into the search bar.

'A Suffusion of Yellow'.

"Ub."

"It only answers 'four' for expressions that actually express the value four. Everything else is apparently suffused in yellow." Spock peered curiously upwards at Jim. "You are resting much of your weight on my shoulders."

"Thorry." Jim moved his elbows. "Weird."

"Indeed."

"… I'll go downthtairth do check thith oud ih you come with me."

"Agreed."

.bdobd.

They found Scotty by pure luck. The engineer was laying on his back on a grassy plot, staring at nothing. "Hey, Scoddy!" Jim yelled.

"Kirk?" Scotty sat up. "Did ya happen to realize tha' your nose is _verra_ broken?"

"No thit. Wha's up wih Vulcan? I can' ged a thtrait anther oud of my compuder."

Scotty shook his head sadly. "Aye. The fish've hacked the system."

"… Whad?"

Spock, who'd been obeying Jim's Thtricd Order Nod Do Dalk, broke his vow of silence and piped up, "To which fish do you refer?"

"The sharks! The new ones that the Feds just accepted?"

Jim and Spock looked at each other with confusion. "Are you speaking of the Aqueans?" Spock guessed.

"Yah! Tha's their name. They wear the hats!"

"Whad aboud dem?" Jim demanded lispily.

"Well, they blew up Vulcan!"

"Whad?" "What."

Scotty either didn't care or didn't know that Spock was Vulcan. He actually looked surprised at the twin expressions of horror being aimed at him. "Ya di'n know? It was all over the news! The Admiralty had hearin' with the leader-fish, whatever they're called –,"

"Aqueans," Spock said faintly

"No, no, their leaders are little fellas, look a lot like fish sticks, oddly enough. Anyway, the sharks and the fish all though' that the Federation's trade agreement gave them premier access to whatever land they wanted, so the sharks built a highway right over Vulcan! Or, they were plannin' to. When they heard that they weren't supposed to blow up other planets they go' rather huffy, apparently."

Jim didn't want to risk looking at Spock. "The _tharks_ blew up _Vulcan _for a _thtreet?_"

Scotty took a few seconds to decipher Jim's newly acquired accent. "… Yeah, tha's about right."

"Ah– Eck–! How'd you know thad?" The dermal regulator Bones had used on his nose was definitely kicking in, but he wasn't quite legible yet.

"Well, there was a hearin'. Uhura told me about it, and there was a big thing in the Academy paper."

"How long ago was the hearing?" Spock asked, his voice strangled.

"… Four hours ago? Five?" It had been going on as Jim was talking to Bolim. The Admiral must not have been senior enough to warrant a place on the podium with the rest of the Admiralty.

Jim covered his face with his hands and took a moment to try and consider this whole thing from the sharks' point of view.

He couldn't.

He had no idea of how things appeared to sharks in general, much less to this particular group of sharks, who seemed to be a seriously deranged example of the species. Or, according to Scotty, the fish-stick men.

Wait.

"Spock?" Jim asked carefully. "The guy on the shuttle, the one we took to the Lorentian System…"

"The one whose appearance was strikingly similar to a fish stick." Spock sounded hollow.

"Yeah. What was he there for, again?"

Spock was quiet. Jim was starting to worry about Scotty, who had gone back to staring at the sky with a sort of blissed-out look on his face. More concerning was the blue flower pattern that was beginning to appear on the Scotsman's ears. "… He was a financial analyst that felt prosecuted for the economic collapse that occurred after the Meson brains failed."

The Aqueans only came into the Federation after years of negotiations. They liked money and arguments and trade.

They were perfect for Meson. Meson, who needed some sort of scapegoat for their android-related fuck ups, and who needed a lot of distraction from one of those androids coming back to life. It was unlikely that the company knew about the highway thing, but it was also unlikely that they'd asked a lot of questions.

Scotty's ears were now fully patterned, and the vines were beginning to creep down his cheeks. Jim felt his body preparing to have a minor panic attack. "_Spock_," he whispered, "_do you see anything wrong with Scott?_"

Spock didn't answer. Jim turned to look at the android and froze. Spock was totally, disturbingly still, and was staring intently into middle distance. His eyes were filmy and he didn't look as if he'd heard Jim at all. The human's attention toggled back to Scotty, who was looking more like a china tea set every minute, and it was honestly scaring the shit out of him.

"Spock!" Jim went to shake the Vulcan, stopped out of sudden fear, shook off the wise feeling of doom, and grabbed the android's arms. "Snap out of it!"

Again, Spock didn't hear him. Scotty's hands had curled in on themselves and were turning into dainty porcelain teacups. Spock's mouth moved slowly. "What?" Jim asked desperately.

Spock's mouth was closed, but a voice came out anyway. It was the inflectionless, sexless voice he'd used when Jim first talked to him; it was the Kobayashi Maru voice. "PLEASE STAND BACK. THE FIELD WILL AFFECT AN AREA WITH A RADIUS OF TWO METERS."

Jim paled and staggered backwards. He'd never actually seen Spock make an improbability field, not in his shell, at any rate. He thought about going back to drag Scotty farther away from the android, but figured that the engineer would probably die (if he was still alive now) outside of the field.

Spock tilted his head to the side, closed his eyes, and all of the reason left the universe.

.bdobd.

Exactly three people remembered That Time When It All Went To Hell. One of them wrote a best-selling series about the impossibility of God, and the other took up extreme fly-fishing as a hobby and wound up falling off of an extreme fly-fishing course (set, floating, four thousand feet above sea level) and died.

The last was Spock, who didn't feel that it was appropriate to talk about it.

.bdobd.

Jim woke up confused. Spock knew this because the human groaned, "What the fuck did I _do_ last night? Don't let me do it again." Spock had the impression that the blonde would have remained face-down in the grass for an extended period of time had the Vulcan not decided to walk over and tap Jim with the toe of his shoe.

Something felt strange. Spock tried to analyze where the strangeness was emanating from, but he could only tell that there was a lot of oddness in the area, and it all seemed to be equally distributed. "Jim. Get up."

Jim moaned into the ground. Spock blinked at the noise. An unusual impulse had risen up at the tone, but Spock again pushed it aside in favor of kneeling down to roll Jim over. "I do not want you to suffocate in the middle of the Academy. Sit up."

Jim squinted at him and pulled a disrespectful face. Spock was not impressed, and grabbed the human's shirt collar to haul him upright.

The Vulcan froze as he saw his hand.

There was something…

He let Jim fall again, to another moan. Spock peered closely at his hand. There! There were blue tracings on the inside of his wrist that had not been there prior to the… sudden universal abnormality. They moved imperceptibly. Spock frowned. Did he have another virus?

He tried to access his databases and stilled. His mind was not what it used to be. His computer banks were gone, and there were swaths of his mind devoted to unconscious processes like breathing and blinking and heart beat.

Heart beat?

Spock gently felt for a pulse in his wrist. It was there, faintly.

He was alive. He was _organic._

… _Fascinating._

.bdobd.

There was a ceremony the next day to memorialize those killed in the _Narada _Incident. In this universe, Nero was a true Romulan, as Spock was a true Vulcan-human hybrid, and Meson did not exist. Spock had joined Starfleet almost a decade ago, and the Kobayashi Maru was just another simulation exercise.

But Jim was still captain of the _Enterprise_, and Spock was the first officer, and Archer and Pike were admirals and Scott had been returned to human form, though wearing a daintily patterned shirt that he was still regularly teased about.

The captain was sworn into his position with haste that would have been impolite in any other circumstances. As he exited the auditorium, he turned to Spock challengingly. "Look," the human said in a rush. "I know I was a bit of a dick during the Maru thing, and I'm sorry, but if we're going to work together then –,"

"It is of no consequence."

"– we need to put this behind us and – What?"

Spock resisted a shrug. He was more Vulcan in this time than he had anticipated. It had something to do with his childhood (the term was still a pleasure: he had _grown_, instead of being _developed!_), and Spock intended to investigate further in the future. "I care not for issues the previously separated us. I fully intend to assist you in any way possible."

Jim was clearly desperate to believe him, and Spock felt a sudden rush of sympathy. He had had so much time with the other Jim, and Jim had been alone for that same period in this universe. "… Are you sure?"

Spock nodded. "Affirmative."

"Oh." Jim beamed. "Well then!" He clapped Spock familiarly on the shoulder. "I'll… be seeing you, then?"

Spock knew that he would, at some point, have to tell Jim of what they had once experienced together.

But not now. "Indeed, Captain."

Jim blinked at the title before swelling with pride. He nodded professionally to Spock before dashing down the hall to celebrate with McCoy, who was still a close friend, and to thoroughly enjoy himself before he took up the responsibility of a five year mission. It was good to see him like this, without the weight of caring for others. Jim had been totally, almost obsessively concerned with Spock's well-being for as long as Spock could remember. The change was unexpectedly refreshing.

Spock followed slowly, savoring the faces he saw in the audience. They knew him as a professor (_him! A teacher!_) and bowed respectfully to him as he passed. Most of the people he had known had survived. Autonomia could be seen as an Andorian Engineering expert, Uhura was the _Enterprise_'s Communications chief, and Dam Kore was an ambassador, terrifying her staff.

He had created the improbability field to save those that he had cared for, and to improve as much as he could upon the strange universe he had been thrown into. From what he could tell, he had done a commendable job.

Spock straightened and sought out the Captain. The _Enterprise_ was to launch in three days, and everything was going to be perfect.

.bdobd.

END

.bdobd.


End file.
